


Other Ways

by sahiya



Series: A Deeper Season [14]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Bujold
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, M/M, a deeper season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nice, peaceful, relaxing honeymoon. Ha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank a number of people for beta-reading and cheerleading, especially since March. Thanks to [](http://castiron.livejournal.com/profile)[**castiron**](http://castiron.livejournal.com/), [](http://firefly-124.livejournal.com/profile)[**firefly_124**](http://firefly-124.livejournal.com/), [](http://jaebi-lit.livejournal.com/profile)[**jaebi_lit**](http://jaebi-lit.livejournal.com/) and [](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/profile)[**fuzzyboo03**](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/) for beta reading. Special thanks to [](http://castiron.livejournal.com/profile)[**castiron**](http://castiron.livejournal.com/) for suggesting "Death Penguins" as a placeholder title in the first instance, or, more accurately, for suggesting "Death Penguins from Utah: How a Group of Displaced Flightless Waterbirds Became an Unstoppable Commando Force." I ended up going with something else (somehow I thought it might give people the wrong impression about what kind of story this was), but it helped me keep my sense of humor, which was in remarkably short supply at certain points in the writing of this story.

_"At home this week, the news has been dominated by newly-wed Emperor Gregor and Lord Consort Miles Vorkosigan's Grand Tour of the Empire. The Emperor and the Lord Consort departed shortly after their wedding ceremony for Komarr, where they spent five days in Solstice before continuing on to Sergyar. While on Komarr, the Emperor and the Lord Consort met with highly placed Komarrans to discuss a number of issues, including tariffs, further soletta array expansion, and domestic security. _

"In a speech to one of the Komarran trade conglomerates, the Emperor said that he hoped to see friendlier relations between the two planets – but that seems rather unlikely at the moment, as some Komarrans were not shy about expressing their displeasure at the Emperor's choice of life partner."

"Miles, why are you watching this?" Gregor asked, pausing over the threshold in the act of pulling on his trousers. "Besides an apparent desire to raise your blood pressure." It certainly raised his to see the scenes now playing across the holovid screen, of Komarrans marching in the streets of Solstice outside the Counselor's Residence. The footage was several days old now, but that didn't stop them from playing it. Or Miles from watching it.

Miles, Gregor noted, had made somewhat less progress towards getting dressed. He'd managed underwear but nothing else, and his hair still stuck up in all directions from being towel-dried after his shower. Gregor had not had the slightest inkling until this trip that Miles was prone to getting distracted while dressing, though he couldn't claim to have been surprised, exactly. In the two weeks since the wedding Gregor had found that he often took his turn in the shower only to come out and find Miles sitting on the bed, reading reports half-naked. Gregor didn't object in principle, but it did have the tendency to lead to even more distracting activities, which meant that getting dressed in the mornings was taking rather longer than it should.

"Morbid curiosity, I guess," Miles said, without averting his eyes from the screen. "I keep thinking they'll find something else to say about it. Some . . . insight."

_"A spokesperson for one of the most vocal groups, the Coalition for a Democratic Komarr, was quoted as saying, 'We will never accept the son of the Butcher as Lord Consort. That the Emperor would make such a choice is to spit in the faces of Komarrans everywhere who lost loved ones in the Massacre –'"_

"Yes, that's exactly what we had in mind," Miles informed the holovid, gesturing with the vid control for emphasis. "Spitting in the faces of Komarrans everywhere. Right after we spit in the faces of conservative Barrayarans."

"Well, that part I know you enjoyed," Gregor said, looping his tie around his neck.

"Does it never occur to these people that maybe, just maybe, you love me beyond all reason?" Miles asked, craning around to give Gregor an irritated frown.

"No," Gregor said flatly. "And you can forget about convincing them. Do you think you might like to put pants on before we go downstairs?"

"Shh," Miles replied, gesturing with the control again. Gregor rolled his eyes and went back into the bathroom to try and tame his hair, though he couldn't quite keep himself from listening with one ear.

_"The good news for the Emperor and the Lord Consort, who arrived on Sergyar earlier today, is that things appear to be settling on Komarr. No major disturbances were reported yesterday, and a public opinion poll conducted within the last day cycle showed that 63% of Komarrans feel unfavorably toward the groups that caused the disruptions."_

"There, you see?" Gregor said, pulling a comb through his hair while sticking his head out the bathroom door. "It's already calming down, just like Allegre and Galeni predicted. Just the natural rumblings of a society adjusting to an idea. Digesting it, as I believe you yourself have described it. Now will you please get dressed?" He snatched the holovid control out of Miles's hand and turned the damn thing off.

Miles glanced down in bemusement. "Oh."

Gregor handed Miles a pair of freshly pressed dark gray trousers. "I wouldn't normally mind, but Sergyar is supposed to be the quiet part of the trip. I think Allegre would be extremely put out if we caused a ruckus by going about half-dressed."

"Hmm. Quite." Miles rose at last and began to dress, while Gregor kept one eye on him for any more signs of distraction. His admiration – and sympathy – for his own valet Rete, left behind on Barrayar in the interest of the newlyweds' privacy, was growing by the day.

"In any case, you shouldn't let it get to you," Gregor said, noting the way Miles was frowning at his belt-buckle.

Miles sighed. "I know that – I was even getting good at it, I think. But they were so calm before the wedding – how were we to know they were just saving it up for the big show?"

"Allegre did warn us."

"Yes. He did." Miles grimaced.

Gregor found himself returning the expression. "I feel like Barrayaran-Komarran relations are always one step forward, three steps back."

"Things are better," Miles said. He sat down on the edge of the bed to shove his feet into his boots. "I can't quite seem to remember that this week, but they are. Duv is head of Komarran Affairs – granted, he's even more unpopular with the extremists than you are," he added thoughtfully. "Though possibly not as unpopular as me."

"Well . . ." Gregor shrugged. "They're extremists. They'll never be happy, no matter what. There's nothing to be done. And you heard the report, the general population is losing patience with the violence. Terrorism is bad for commerce, if nothing else."

"I guess." Miles shrugged into his coat and buttoned it and then sat down on the bed to pull his boots on. His hair was still a mess, and Gregor, after a moment spent in ridiculous contemplation, leaned over to put it into some semblance of order with fingers and comb. Miles made a pleased, surprised noise in his throat, and Gregor smiled, stroking the soft hair, still slightly damp, curling around his ears.

"The hard part's over," Gregor said. "From here on out it's just Sergyarans. All we have to do is stand next to your parents after they get here tomorrow and smile."

Miles opened his eyes and smirked up at him. "I still say we should have told them to shove it and rented a house on the sea for a week."

They were on the brink of being late, but they'd been indulged so far; Gregor suspected Allegre didn't much want to think what they had probably been up to when they were a few minutes late. Gregor knelt on the bed and kissed the back of Miles's neck, enjoying the newly familiar warm feeling in his chest. He had wondered, sometimes, what being married would do to him. It remained to be seen, of course, but so far it had made him very content. Miles, too, seemed to itch less to be up and moving always, but Gregor had to wonder if the changes would prove lasting.

"We could still, in a few months maybe," he murmured. Miles shivered as Gregor's breath ghosted across the back of his neck. "Once things have settled a bit."

"It'll be nice to be home again," Miles said, turning his face toward Gregor. "Weird though. Different."

"Better," Gregor said.

"Yeah. Better. And in about ten months . . ."

"Yes." Gregor rubbed a thumb across the back of Miles's neck, searching for the pressure point that would relieve the incipient headache he suspected Miles was suffering from.

Miles made another small noise and leaned back against him before saying, "Part of me thinks it might be better to wait to start the first one. Work things out first and then do it."

"Ivan would be furious."

"Well, yeah, but that's never stopped us before."

Gregor reached around to clasp Miles's hand. "We've had almost five years. I don't think we need to wait. And I don't think I'd really want to. I want to meet our children as soon as possible."

"Me too," Miles said, looking at Gregor from an unusual height advantage. "It's kinda scary, though, isn't it?"

"Yes," Gregor said, glancing away. "Sometimes I think it's scarier than everything else put together. Barrayar, Komarr – all of it seems so small sometimes, compared to this. We could screw it up so badly . . ."

"We won't."

"Lots of parents do. Mine, for instance."

Miles pulled away enough to twist around, fingers tightening on Gregor's. "I don't think that's very fair to your mother. She . . . did what she had to do."

"And my father?"

"Gregor, do you even need both hands to count the number of times you met the man? That isn't parenting. And anyway," Miles added, stroking a soothing hand down Gregor's arm, "we both had my parents."

"Yes," Gregor sighed. "That we did."

Miles sat looking at him for a moment, and though he found it a little unnerving, Gregor endured the scrutiny. It was strange getting used to sharing space with someone after nearly forty years of living more or less alone. He had dreamed of this for over a decade, of falling asleep and waking up next to Miles, though he'd not taken into account things like Miles being inevitably irritated before his first cup of coffee or Gregor's own habit of falling asleep in his paperwork. These things hadn't mattered when their nights together were sporadic and special, and Gregor had neglected them in his fantasies as well – but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that reality was slightly more . . . real.

A knock at the door startled them both out of their mutual contemplation. "That'll be Alexis wanting to know where the hell we are," Miles said, rising to answer.

Indeed it was. "Emperor, my Lord Consort," Alexis Avalos, Miles's newly appointed assistant said, bowing briefly. He frowned down at Miles in faint exasperation. "My lord –"

"We're almost there, Alexis, don't worry," Miles assured him. "Two minutes."

"Two actual minutes?" Alexis replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't be cheeky," Miles retorted.

"Two actual minutes, yes, Alexis," Gregor said, smiling. The two of them exchanged a glance and Alexis took his leave with one last stern glower in Miles's direction.

"He offered to draw up the daily schedule like a combat mission plan," Miles said, buttoning his cufflinks. "I told him it wouldn't help, since I'd never kept to those either. I can't believe someone with a decade's experience in covert ops could be so . . . punctual."

"It was a different sort of covert ops," Gregor pointed out. "His was a long-term assignment. He had to be able to pass as a scientist in one of Bharaputra's labs – keep to a regular work schedule and so on."

"I suppose." Miles stepped into the bathroom to smooth down the hair Gregor had ruffled. Gregor, watching his reflection in the mirror, found himself imagining their children as he'd thought of them for the last four years. Two boys, of course, black haired and grey-eyed, with Miles's penchant for mischief and a touch of Gregor's solemnity. And a little girl, too, though he could see her less clearly than the others, with long black hair and a sweet smile. Probably she'd end up being more trouble than both boys put together, if she had anything of her grandmother in her.

They had come so far, in such a short time, and sometimes he thought it was mostly for them, for these children who didn't even exist yet except in their minds. Gregor had led a strangely unambitious life – all the wealth and power he could possibly ever want held in trust for him from the age of five. But he found that this, too, was an ambition of sorts. He was positively greedy for it when he let himself be. Even if it weren't the only kind of wealth, surely it would be one of the sweetest.

That evening's entertainment was dinner with the newly appointed Sergyaran Viceroy and Vicereine Vorvaine, followed by a concert by the Sergyaran Symphony. Gregor had requested the concert particularly, anticipating that they would both be too tired for dancing after several days of travel. Whoever had organized the event had done an excellent job of researching their tastes; it opened with one of Gregor's favorite pieces and, through the skillful selection of various pieces, segued into one of Miles's by intermission. This was no small feat considering they had been composed nearly a millennium apart. Concealed in the darkness of the concert hall, Gregor reached over and took Miles's hand. Miles glanced at him, squeezed his fingers, and settled back with a soft sigh.

Allegre came to fetch Gregor during the intermission for a security briefing, which Gregor did his best to hurry along. Things on Komarr continued to settle; there had been one incident with a group of drunken university students, but apparently the Solstice Municipal Guard had taken care of it on their own, no help from ImpSec necessary. There were a few small matters back home, but Domestic Affairs had them well in hand. Gregor found himself glancing toward the concert hall impatiently as he could hear the orchestra tuning and the next piece on the program was Beethoven's 5th; he wanted back in his seat before they began, if possible.

It seemed he was about to get his wish when Allegre paused, hesitated strangely, and said, "There is one more thing, Sire."

"Yes?" Gregor said. _Damn._

"This has been developing – or rather, not developing – over the last day-cycle. I had hoped it would resolve itself, and I didn't want to worry you, and especially my Lord Consort, for no reason."

Gregor frowned. "What is it?"

"The Dendarii Fleet missed its rendezvous point with Admiral Quinn. They simply didn't show up where they were supposed to."

Gregort sat back, all thoughts of the music forgotten. "That's . . . strange."

"Admiral Quinn thought so as well, but we've been assuming that there was a fairly banal explanation for it. I thought my Lord Consort might be unduly concerned, so –"

"Yes," Gregor said. "I take it you haven't found them?"

Allegre grimaced, looking, if Gregor wasn't mistaken, rather embarrassed. "No, Sire. We know where they're supposed to be."

"Which is somehow not the same as knowing where they are," Gregor pointed out mildly.

"Not in this case. It is most irregular. But I'm still hoping that there's some simple explanation for it – a technical malfunction of some kind, for instance."

Gregor couldn't quite believe that, and it seemed to him that Allegre didn't really believe it either. "But in that case, wouldn't they have at least contacted Quinn to tell her they were going to be delayed?"

Allegre sighed. "Yes, Sire. One would assume."

"What about our agent in the Fleet?"

"He made his last scheduled contact – it was while we were on Komarr – and we've had nothing since then. I don't know what that means, Sire," Allegre added, holding his hands out in an approximation of a shrug. "It could mean nothing. We generally don't hear from him between scheduled contacts."

"But is no news really good news in this case?"

Allegre shook his head. "I don't know, Sire. We're working on collecting more information through other channels."

"Well," Gregor said, standing to return to his seat, "keep me posted."

"Of course, Sire," Allegre said, perforce standing with him. "If you don't mind my asking, are you going to tell my Lord Consort?"

Gregor hesitated. If he did, and it turned out to be nothing, he would have borrowed a great deal of trouble. On the other hand, if he didn't and it turned out to be something after all – well, that would be even more difficult, and Miles's anger – for he was sure to be angry about it – would be far more justified. Still . . . this trip had been stressful enough for them both already, as Miles's somewhat uncharacteristic brooding over the holovid earlier had demonstrated. "Not just yet. I think you're right, he'd worry unduly. It's not his job anymore, but all the same . . . if we don't hear anything in the next day-cycle, I'll tell him."

"Very good, Sire."

"Everything all right?" Miles whispered as Gregor joined him once more.

"Just a routine briefing," he whispered back. It wasn't a lie, exactly, but Gregor's conscience twinged enough that he found he couldn't quite enjoy the music as much as he had earlier. He decided it was just punishment for committing a marital sin of omission, as Cordelia likely would have termed it. Not that Miles would see it that way, if he ever found out.

Their schedule the next morning was hectic. Gregor had to squeeze the security briefing in before breakfast – no news on the Dendarii; Komarr continued to settle – before he and Miles were whisked off to meet Aral and Cordelia at the shuttleport. They met them in the concourse in front of about a hundred staff, media, and cameras. Gregor, kissing Cordelia on the cheek, thought her smile seemed a little strained. But of course they would have heard about Komarr.

"How was your trip?" Miles muttered through his smile once they'd turned to face the crowd once more.

"Uneventful," Cordelia said, blinking a little in the lights of the holovid recorders. "Unlike yours, or so we heard."

"The rumors of riots were grossly exaggerated," Miles assured her. "At most, you could call them protests. Small ones."

"The holovid broadcasts did not make them look small," Aral said wryly.

"Oh, well," Miles said, still smiling. "You know how those things are. You have the protesters, and then you have counter protesters, and then you have the people who are there for no reason in particular."

"Hmm," Cordelia said, eyeing her son shrewdly before casting a glance toward Gregor.

Gregor frowned slightly and shook his head; if Miles was going to be blithe about the whole thing – today, at least – then he didn't think Cordelia should press. "We were perfectly safe the entire time," he added, hoping to forestall further discussion.

Cordelia reached over to take Gregor by the arm as they finally began to move, ever so slowly, toward the exit where their groundcar waited. "I'm certainly relieved to hear it – if somewhat skeptical of your collective definition of _safe_."

The Count and Countess insisted they didn't need to go back to the Viceroy's Palace to rest, and so they spent the morning touring the capital, waving at the crowds lining the streets through the windows of their ground car. Viceroy Vorvaine kept up a running commentary that gave them far more information than they had ever wanted about the infrastructure of the city, including just how many marks a fully functional public transportation system, for example, would cost. After lunch they found themselves split up – Gregor to the nearby military base to conduct an official troop review, and Miles and his parents to a ribbon-cutting ceremony at the new hospital. Gregor thought it was very politic of somebody to have named it simply "Vorkosigan Municipal Hospital," rather than the "Admiral Count Aral Vorkosigan Municipal Hospital" as he was sure had been their first impulse – nearly half the doctors working there were the Countess's scholarship students, after all.

Troop reviews were one of Gregor's more mind-numbing ceremonial functions, and that was saying something. He'd liked them when he was younger, but these days he found himself doing budget numbers in his head. It helped him look properly stern, he suspected. On this particular afternoon, he was trying to shift around Imperial funds to see if they could actually afford the public transportation system the Viceroy wanted so badly.

Well. Perhaps next year.

That evening was a banquet with various major players on Sergyar – large-scale investors, highly ranked military personnel, and various people in important political positions. They seemed to be of a more adventurous variety than their counterparts back home, Gregor thought. Some might have been living on Sergyar only reluctantly, but most clearly relished living in a frontier atmosphere. "Playing cowboy" as Cordelia put it.

A long stint of toasting commenced once everyone was seated at the elegantly set table in the Vicery's dining room. Beside him, Miles fidgeted subtly. Gregor put a hand on his knee and he stopped with a barely concealed sigh. But when his own time came to deliver a toast in honor of the Viceroy and Vicereine, he did so with aplomb. Despite finding the ceremony of his new role unbelievably tedious, Miles was good at it – when he wanted to be, at least. But Miles wouldn't be Miles, after all, without his tendency to deliberately and cheerfully disrupt, and occasionally destroy, the status quo.

Not tonight, though – actually, he'd been remarkably well behaved the entire trip. He was adjusting, Gregor thought, but he was sure that as soon as Miles was more comfortable, he'd start testing whatever new boundaries he ran into. Gregor found himself looking strangely forward to it. Life in the Imperial Residence would never be boring again.

Seven courses later, Gregor thought he might be ready for a nap. Instead he excused himself for his evening briefing and met Allegre in the library once again.

"Any word from the Dendarii?" Gregor asked quietly.

"No," Allegre said, and Gregor frowned. "But we seem to have located them."

"Where?"

"They're floating in dead space between two wormholes on the Komarr-Escobar route. There's nothing there, which is why it took us so long to find them."

Gregor blinked. That was puzzling. "Has Admiral Quinn been informed?"

"Yes. She's been trying to make contact with them, but they haven't yet responded. Nor have they sent out a distress signal. It's very irregular."

"And we've still had nothing from our agent?"

"No, Sire."

"What do you think happened?"

Allegre, plainly reluctant to make a guess, turned his hand palm out in a gesture of uncertainty. "I don't know, Sire. Neither does Quinn. A technical malfunction at the same time on all half dozen ships seems extraordinarily unlikely."

Gregor frowned. His _it's probably nothing_ justification seemed to be crumbling, but he found himself reluctant to let go of it completely. "What's the next step?"

"We've sent Quinn out on a ship with a number of ImpSec agents – no one who can be traced back to us, of course. They will assess the situation and report back."

"When should we hear?"

"We should have a much better idea of what's going on within the next day-cycle."

Gregor nodded. "I'll wait to tell Miles then." There was absolutely nothing Miles could do, after all. The Dendarii weren't his responsibility anymore and he would only worry. Gregor could worry well enough for the both of them – he had a decade and a half of experience doing just that, after all, since Miles had never worried nearly enough about himself.

Miles raised his eyebrows in subtle questioning as Gregor returned to the table, and Gregor gave him a subtle, reassuring smile.

It was very late that night by the time Gregor and Miles collapsed into bed, and they would have to be up in just a few hours for the long trip out to the settlement their were scheduled to visit. Grgor slept deeply thanks to the Sergyaran wine he'd drunk at dinner, until he gradually became aware that someone was shaking him gently, and it wasn't in his dream. He opened his eyes and saw his night duty Armsman standing by the bed, hand on his shoulder.

"What's it?" Gregor managed, sitting up.

"I'm sorry, Sire, but General Allegre insisted I wake you."

That was never a good sign. Not at – Gregor checked the bedside chrono – 0300. _Damn._ "Did he say why?"

"No, Sire."

_Komarr or the Dendarii_, he thought grimly. Either way, this day was going to be extremely unpleasant. He got up and began pulling on his clothes from the night before, which lay folded over a chair.

"What's going on?" Miles mumbled, apparently woken by their voices. He sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. He peered at the bedside chrono. "We don't have to get up for another two hours."

"Something's happened," Gregor replied grimly.

Miles looked instantly more awake. "What?"

"I don't know, but if it was bad enough for them to wake me at three in the morning . . ."

"Yeah," Miles said, already reaching for his own clothes.

There was already a lot of activity downstairs by the time the two of them arrived. It didn't take Gregor long to realize that the place was swarming with twice as many ImpSec agents as earlier that evening – he wouldn't have been surprised if half the agents in the capital were present. He exchanged a quick glance with Miles, who frowned back and shook his head, before they were ushered through to Allegre in the library.

Allegre looked up, and then stood. "Sire," he said. "My Lord Consort."

"What happened?" Gregor replied. The news was going to be bad and there was no use prolonging the agony. He was very grateful that Miles was standing next to him, blessedly alive and well and unharmed.

Allegre looked past them at the other agents. "Could we have the room, please?" he said over the din of voices. When the room had emptied, he turned back, his mouth a grim line.

"General," Gregor demanded, "_what happened_?"

"Sire, one of the wormholes between Komarr and Barrayar," Allegre said, and Gregor's stomach turned to ice. "We just received word. It's closed."


	2. Chapter 2

Allegre should have told them to sit.

There was a ringing in Miles's ears, white noise, sharp and high. He found himself reaching for Gregor, closing his hand around Gregor's wrist, more to keep his own balance than to offer support. Gregor clutched back at Miles's shoulder, looking just as shocky as Miles felt. They would have to hold each other up, it seemed.

_Ivan. Ekaterin. Aunt Alys. Simon. The Koudelkas. My God. _

It took Miles a few seconds to register through his shock the second thing Allegre had said. He blinked and shook his head, wondering if he'd only imagined him saying, "It's not permanent."

Judging by the way Gregor let out a choked breath and loosened his grip on Miles's shoulder, probably not. "You might have said that first, Guy. How?"

"It was deliberate. A fire ship went in – we've used the procedure before ourselves –"

"I'm familiar with it." Gregor paused to draw a deep breath. "Which wormhole? The one nearest Komarr?"

"Yes, Sire."

"How long?"

"Two weeks. Perhaps three."

"Will they know back home?" Miles put in, hand tightening on Gregor's wrist. "That it's temporary, I mean?"

"Yes, my Lord Consort. The procedure doesn't actually close a wormhole, per se, but it causes a very distinctive disruption. They'll know immediately."

That was something at least. Miles relaxed fractionally. But still, there would be widespread panic. Chaos. An entire planet's collective worst nightmare come true, however temporarily. And their Emperor trapped on the other side. Miles swallowed. "Now that it's happened, I'm surprised no one's ever tried it before. Komarr, for instance. Do you think it was Komarrans?"

"Several groups are claiming responsibility, but we have no conclusive evidence. But yes, considering the recent violence and the, er, displeasure of certain groups at your marriage – I do think it was Komarrans."

Miles blew out a long breath. "It will re-open on its own eventually. In the meantime . . ."

"We wait," Gregor finished with a sigh. "And try to find the people responsible."

Allegre seemed to hesitate. "Sire . . ."

"Yes?"

"An example will have to be made," he said carefully. "Now that someone has done it once, we must make clear the dire consequences to whomever tries it again. Otherwise people will realize that it is remarkably easy to cause disastrous economic and social disruption on Barrayar, so long as one has a willing pilot. Certain Komarran splinter groups would not find that an insurmountable obstacle."

"I know," Gregor replied grimly. He glanced at his chrono. "We need to get back to Komarr. How fast can our shuttle be ready?"

"One hour, Sire."

"I want to leave no later than 0500."

"Yes, Sire." Allegre gave a brief bow and took his leave.

Gregor turned to Miles, his mouth set in a grim line. "Well."

"Indeed." Miles crossed his arms over his chest. "Remind me never to say 'the hard part's over' ever again, all right?"

Gregor leaned against the desk and passed his hand over his eyes. "Right. That should have tipped me off."

Something in his voice set Miles's alarm bells ringing. "Hey. Gregor." Miles planted himself directly in front of him to force Gregor to look at him, really look at him. "You couldn't have known. There was no way –"

"They were so angry."

"They're extremists. They're _always_ angry."

"I dismissed them. I underestimated –"

"You didn't," Miles said, reaching out to grasp Gregor by the shoulders. "And even if you did, Allegre certainly didn't. No one saw this coming."

Gregor looked back at him, dark eyes unreadable. "We should have."

There was almost no conversation during the shuttle ride up to the ship. Miles was sure everyone was lost in thoughts of people back home. He himself had some fairly unpleasant notions brewing about what exactly could be happening there right now. What would happen when an entire society's worst nightmare was realized and their Emperor was nowhere to be seen? Revolutions had been made of less calamitous events in the past.

Fifty years ago, Miles reflected, there would have been riots and an attempted coup for sure. It would have ended badly, with beheadings and a high body count, but Ezar probably would have retained the Imperium. Twenty years ago . . . well, twenty years ago Gregor had been a nineteen year old kid, unsure of himself, scared, and easily swayed. He'd had good counsel, but all the same, Miles wasn't sure if his reign would have survived that kind of chaos. But Gregor was different now. Even more importantly, Barrayar was different now. Maybe, just maybe, they'd get through this without blowing themselves up.

_Come on_, Miles thought, staring out the shuttle window in the direction he imagined Barrayar lay, meaningless as such things were with wormhole travel. _Now's the time to show us what you're really made of._ It would prove one of two things in the end: either that the changes of the last century had all been skin deep and Barrayar was still an uncivilized, baby-killing backwater like the rest of the Nexus seemed to believe, or that somewhere in all of it, something had altered, some indiscernible, uncertain, tenuous part of Barrayar's scarred and traumatized collective psyche had managed against all odds to heal itself. And difficult as it was to believe, Miles thought bitterly, there were people back home rooting for the former, and ready to take advantage of any opportunity to send them back to the Time of Isolation for good. The news about the wormhole would be Winterfair come early for them.

_Don't let those bastards win. You're better than that now. Generations of my family have sweat blood to make it so._

Unfortunately, most of those people were on this side of the wormhole.

Miles sighed and shook his head, trying to refocus. There was absolutely nothing to be done about the Barrayaran side of things, which left them with what could potentially be even more of a mess: Komarr. While still planetside, Gregor had recorded an announcement to go out to the Sergyaran and Komarran media. He emphasized the temporary nature of the situation to try and curb the panic that was sure to result, and added that any groups that sought to take advantage of it would surely regret that decision in the end. Miles thought that using verbal threats to try and stop Komarran terrorism was a bit like trying to put out a shipboard fire with a water pistol, but it was all that could be done. He didn't think anyone would doubt the sincerity of the message.

By 0800 they were back on their ship and on their way to the first jump point. Miles and Gregor weren't even shown to their quarters before being whisked away for a security briefing. ImpSec didn't know much more than it had earlier, but Allegre seemed more at ease with the two of them where he could see them, and he had a few more details to offer on the identity of the ship involved.

"It was a small one, commercial," Allegre said. "Licensed to one of the minor Komarran trade associations. It left Komarr on a run to Beta Colony about a week ago and suddenly turned up again yesterday. Because it was Komarran it was able to move freely in local space, and it had been cleared previously for the jump from Komarr to Barrayar. At 1756 local time, it entered the wormhole, which closed four minutes later."

"Was anyone besides the pilot on board?" Gregor asked.

"Not that we know of. The jump point control agents said he appeared to be alone."

"Who was he?"

"We're not sure about that either, Sire. We know who was registered as pilot of the craft, but whether he's the one who made the jump or not, we're not certain."

"They didn't check his ID at the jump point?" Miles asked, blinking.

Allegre grimaced. "They checked his papers, my Lord Consort, and those of the ship. The holographic ID seemed to match up."

"And there's no chance of something like this happening accidentally, is there?"

Allegre shook his head. "Absolutely not. It's a delicate operation on the part of the pilot – he has to know exactly what he's doing or the ship simply vanishes with no effect on the wormhole."

"Okay," Gregor said with a sigh. "What about Komarr?"

"Nothing so far. We've decided to put extra protection around the Counselor and his family, as well as a few other high government officials. With your permission, Sire, I would like to make the general ImpSec presence in the main cities more, shall we say, visible."

Miles raised an eyebrow, though in truth he was not the least bit surprised. "Turn the whole planet into a police state, you mean? Don't you think that's jumping the gun a bit?"

"No, my Lord Consort, I don't. Not after what happened during your visit, and not considering the overwhelming evidence –"

"That it was a Komarran extremist group," Miles pointed out evenly. "The key word being _extremist_. I think it's important to think about the long term implications of whatever action we take."

"My Lord Consort, can you honestly tell me you think that the average Komarran would not be pleased if the wormhole closed permanently?" Allegre replied, frowning. "I'm somewhat more concerned about the short-term at the moment."

"I'm concerned about both," Gregor broke in, even as Miles opened his mouth to make a rebuttal. Gregor paused thoughtfully and Miles had to bite his tongue – almost literally – to keep from continuing the argument. "And I agree with both of you. Put more agents on the streets, please, but I want them dressed as civilians."

"Yes, Sire." Allegre made a note.

"Is that everything for now?"

"Yes, Sire. Eventually I will need to discuss personal security on Komarr for you and my Lord Consort, but we're still putting that together."

Gregor stood. "Thank you. I want an update every half hour, regardless." Allegre nodded and bowed himself out.

"They're going to quadruple our protection on Komarr, aren't they?" Miles asked as they left the conference room.

"I imagine so, yes. If they let us off the ship at all."

Miles sighed. It wasn't as though he could argue the necessity of it under the circumstances, but it chafed all the same.

They went in search of Miles's parents and found them in their quarters, a largely untouched breakfast spread out between them. They both looked tired, Miles thought, his father especially. This was never supposed to be a stressful trip, and his father's doctors hadn't been very excited about the Count making it at all. Probably it was preferable to the stress of being on the other side of the wormhole, but possibly not. Miles still wasn't sure whether he should count himself lucky.

Miles's stomach growled at the sight of the groats and eggs laid out, and he realized with a start that they'd been up for close to six hours and neither of them had eaten anything. Gregor seemed to feel the same, because he dismissed the hovering Armsmen and sat down, dishing up groats for himself and Miles as he filled the Count and Countess in on the details of the security meeting. Miles accepted a cup of strong black coffee gratefully. His initial adrenalin rush was starting to wear off and it was leaving plain old weariness in its place.

No one spoke for a time after Gregor ran down. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, and Miles was relieved when at last the Count cleared his throat. "Have you noticed that no one is talking much about what might be happening at home?" he asked.

"I did," Gregor said. "I was thinking about it earlier. It was . . . unpleasant."

The Count hummed in agreement, but added, "Though the truth is that everything should run fairly well. You've certainly gone off-planet before."

"But never during this sort of emergency," Gregor replied, spooning raspberry jam onto his groats. "You're right, everything should run as usual. All the same, I don't think I'll relax until I'm back on Barrayaran soil and know I'm not facing a coup."

The Count gave a gruff chuckle of morbid agreement. "Well, that's not to say that someone won't try, just that they won't succeed. There are a few intractable Conservatives in the Council who are, shall we say, sufficiently annoyed at the Progressive bent of your reign to contemplate taking advantage of something like this. We just have to hope that they've studied their history enough to realize the futility of it."

"The isolationist fanatics, on the other hand . . ." the Countess murmured.

Gregor sighed. "Right. It's always the fanatics."

"But they lack a power base," Miles pointed out. "The vast majority of Barrayarans have no desire to go back to the Time of Isolation."

Gregor nodded, but did not seem particularly reassured. He'd thought of all of this already, Miles was certain. Gregor ate a few bites of groats before laying his spoon down in favor of his coffee. Over the rim of his cup, he said, "I'm glad now that we left the Domestic Affairs man back on Barrayar. He almost came with us, but that would have put all ImpSec section chiefs off planet." He sipped. "A wise move, in retrospect."

He picked his spoon back up but ate no more. Miles, watching him carefully, decided it was time for a slight change of subject. "Ivan's in for it," he said, as lightly as possible. "Ceremonially, at least. They'll want _someone_ as a figurehead."

His mother tried rather unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. "Poor Ivan."

"He'll survive," the Count said ruthlessly. "If you ask me, being Gregor's heir has been good for him. Made him take responsibility for once."

"He's done very well with it, I have to admit," Gregor said. "Though I feel rather guilty sometimes."

"So do I." Miles shrugged. "But we do what we must. Even Ivan."

"Yes," Gregor murmured. "That we do."

*~*~*

 

Gregor was used to feeling fairly useless in a crisis. Not that he didn't have his own role to play, but it was the nature of his job to make decisions and then wait for them to play out. The wait was the nerve-wracking part, he'd found, after the dice had been thrown but before he could see how they'd turn up. He was rarely, if ever, in the thick of the action, and he'd resigned himself to that long ago. He'd even managed to stop wishing it were different, most days.

Miles, on the other hand, was terrible at waiting. Gregor thought that the most unpleasant aspect of being his Consort for Miles would not be the increased security, and it would not be the vulgar assumptions people would make about their relationship. No, in the end it would be relinquishing his place at the center of the action, something Miles had gone to great lengths to avoid in the past, up to and including sabotaging his own military career. He'd only just – and very reluctantly – started to come to terms with it over the last four years. The few really bad arguments they'd ever had had been about just that. They hadn't had one in over a year, but Gregor was inclined to think that was more because the situation hadn't come up, than because Miles had actually changed.

Tonight was worse than usual for obvious reasons. Gregor watched Miles from across the table in their suite as Pym and Jenouille laid their dinner out between them. Gregor was feeling it as well, the dreadful sense that whatever they did would be utterly pointless, and therefore it was better to do nothing and wait for news to come in. Miles arranged and re-arranged his silverware, picked up his wine glass and put it back, and finally settled slightly, tapping his fingers on the bare wood of the table.

"Would you like us to lay dessert out as well, Sire?" Jenouille asked.

"Sorry?" Gregor said, glancing away from Miles. "Oh, no, that's fine. We'll get it ourselves. Thank you." The Armsmen withdrew.

Miles sighed, and began serving their salad. "I suppose it would be useless for me to ask if there's been any news?"

Gregor shook his head. "You'll know when I do. Allegre did have quite a lot of negative information for me when we met a few minutes ago. He doesn't seem to think any of the groups that originally claimed responsibility actually had anything to do with it."

"Predictable," Miles said, pushing his salad around on his plate. "But not a very good sign. If they're staying quiet, it could mean they're planning something else."

Gregor poured wine for both of them. "Yes. Or just that they have some sense of self-preservation."

Miles frowned. "Suicide missions and self-preservation don't generally coincide."

Gregor grimaced in agreement. "All things considered, I'm more inclined to the former as well, unfortunately. And stop playing with your food."

Miles looked down at his plate ruefully. "Sorry." He took a decisive bite of lettuce.

The two of them ate in unusual silence. One of Gregor's very favorite things about Miles, which had been true long before he'd ever fallen in love with him, was how easily he could talk to him. Tonight, though, after a full day of nothing but talk, most of it pointless, there didn't seem to be much left to say. Gregor himself wanted nothing more than to go to bed early and hopefully wake up to news of some kind.

A quick rap at the door made them both look up. "Allegre," Gregor said, recognizing the knock, and reached for the control.

"Sire," Allegre said, bowing briefly as he stepped into the room. "My Lord Consort. I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've just received some news." His eyes slid to Miles. Gregor raised his eyebrows.

"Whatever it is, Miles can hear it."

"It's not about the wormhole, Sire."

_The Dendarii. Oh hell_. Gregor had completely forgotten. Miles was giving him a very strange look, and Gregor knew it would be pointless to try and speak to Allegre privately now. Miles would have it out of him inside of five minutes now that he knew he was being deliberately kept out of the loop on something. Gregor folded his napkin neatly, laid it beside his plate, and gestured Allegre into one of the spare chairs. Allegre took it gratefully.

"Go ahead," Gregor said. "Fill Miles in first, please."

As succinctly as possible, Allegre filled Miles in on the situation with the Dendarii. Gregor watched Miles's expression carefully throughout, but found it utterly unreadable for once. When Allegre finally wound down, he turned to Gregor and said in a tightly controlled voice, "Why wasn't I informed about this?"

_Hell_. "Because we thought it was nothing. And I knew it would only worry you."

"And you didn't think I had the right to know?"

Gregor frowned. "Miles, you're not in charge of the Dendarii anymore. I was going to tell you eventually, of course, but they're not your responsibility. They haven't been for a long time now."

For a few seconds Gregor thought Miles would continue the argument then and there, but instead he simply looked to Allegre and asked, "What have you found out then?"

"We sent out a ship just as we'd planned, with Quinn and some agents for backup," Allegre said, glancing between the two of them a bit uncertainly. "They were unable to establish video or radio contact with the ship, and then," Allegre paused briefly and shook his head, as though in bafflement before continuing, "And then the Dendarii opened fire on them."

"_What_?" Miles yelped.

"Were they hit?" Gregor asked, sitting up straight in an echo of Miles's alarm.

Allegre shook his head again. "I don't think they were actually aiming to hit, from what the report said."

"Is it possible it was a mistake?" Miles demanded.

"I . . . highly doubt it, my Lord Consort."

"A mutiny," Miles said in disbelief. "Someone staged a mutiny while Quinn was at my wedding?"

"Apparently, my lord," Allegre said. "We haven't confirmed that, of course, but our agent in the fleet has just missed a contact point. I think we have to assume the worst."

"Where's Quinn?" Miles asked.

Allegre made a palms-out placating gesture that Gregor hoped Miles didn't notice. "She's on her way back to Komarr. She'll arrive before we do."

"Are you going to try to re-take the fleet?" Miles asked.

"Ah," Allegre said, glancing to Gregor. "That is the question. It would be complicated under the best of circumstances. But now, frankly, I'm worried about over committing resources that are needed elsewhere."

"I thought most of our ships were on this side of the wormhole," Gregor said.

"Yes, Sire, but many of them will take three weeks or more to reach Komarr, and those we do have within close range we can't afford to send outside the Imperium."

"So what you're telling me is that you're not going to re-take the fleet," Miles said flatly.

Allegre glanced toward Gregor before saying carefully, "I will, of course, do as the Emperor bids."

_Thank you, Guy._

"Well," Gregor said, after a short but significant pause. "It is unfortunate timing, but I'm afraid I have to agree with General Allegre. It may be better for us to revisit this after everything else is resolved."

"But by then the situation could be – and _will_ be, I can almost guarantee you – much worse," Miles argued. "The longer we wait, the harder it will be to regain control of the fleet. Any number of things could happen in the meantime." He looked back and forth between Gregor and Allegre, and he must not have liked what he saw, because he added, "Anyway, you can't just leave the agent there."

"True," Gregor said slowly. "Guy? What was your plan for the agent?"

"If he's still alive and able to contact us, he will. Mounting a rescue mission of any sort at this point would be both premature and ill-advised, I think, and might very well tip our hand, if whoever's taken over doesn't yet know that the Dendarii are actually Imperial troops."

"You would do nothing for the moment, then."

"No, Sire. To borrow one of your favorite phrases, I would see what happens."

"I see." Gregor glanced at Miles, who refused to meet his eyes. So much for hoping that Miles would see reason on this. _Damn_. "You'll speak to Admiral Quinn on Komarr?"

"Yes, Sire," Allegre said.

"I want to be clear, Guy. I realize that there are more pressing security matters at the moment, but the Dendarii are a valuable part of the Barrayaran military. I would not look kindly upon losing them permanently."

"Of course, Sire," Allegre said, and took his leave – with some relief, Gregor thought.

Miles said nothing for a long while. Gregor moved his food around on his plate and waited for the explosion. But when Miles finally spoke, it was extremely mild, and he even did it while taking a sip of wine, a gesture Gregor would have taken to be casual if he hadn't known better. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you would worry."

"Really?"

"Yes," Gregor said, raising his eyebrows. "Why else? We thought there was probably a very banal explanation for it," he continued, when Miles simply kept looking at him, "and I knew that you would –"

"What? Blow it out of proportion?"

"Yes." Gregor rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I can't imagine why I thought that."

"I'm not blowing it out of proportion! There was a _mutiny_!"

"Yes, and we'll handle it as soon as we're done with this other, very minor crisis."

Miles glared. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"No, I don't actually find anything about this funny," Gregor said truthfully.

"Neither do I. You handled me."

"Miles . . ."

"No, don't, you _handled_ me, like I'm – like I'm people!"

"No, actually, Miles, I handled you like you're _you_," Gregor snapped, finally losing his patience. "I don't know if that's better or worse, but it's true. I knew you would be upset, and I knew that if something was wrong you'd take it personally, just like you're doing now."

"I'm not taking it personally!"

"Yes, you are! Tell me, Miles, how long has it been? How long has it been since you were Admiral Naismith?"

Miles glared sullenly. "About four and a half years."

"And you still think of the Dendarii as yours somehow. But they're not."

Miles stood, chair scraping back against the floor. Their eyes were on level now. "You're missing the point here, Gregor."

"Oh, am I?"

"Yes. I had a right to know about this and you kept it from me –"

"What right to know? They don't belong to you anymore."

"— and it wasn't to keep me from worrying. You were the one who was worried. You thought I was going to take off or something, didn't you? Do something stupid?"

Gregor stared at him. "No," he said at last. "I didn't. But I do now."

Miles shook his head and threw his napkin down on his plate. "Not that it wouldn't be the fastest way to solve the issue –"

"Don't even _think_ –"

"I'm _not_," he snarled. "I gave all that up, didn't I? And I know better, thank you. And you should too."

"Miles –"

"No. Don't try to – to placate me. Don't handle me, all right? Not ever."

"It would help if you stopped giving me reasons to."

The look Miles gave him could have boiled water. Gregor thought he probably deserved it, and knew he was rapidly losing any moral high ground he might have had at the beginning of the argument. "Where are you going?" he asked as Miles stabbed at the control panel for the door.

"I need air."

"We're on a ship."

"I need _different air_." The door slid open, much too slowly for Miles to storm out in a huff, but he managed a fair approximation nevertheless. Gregor watched him go and then leaned back, pushing his plate away. Terrorism of an uncertain variety, a possible civil war, a probable revolt, a definite mutiny, and, as if all that wasn't enough, now Miles was pissed at him.

_A nice, peaceful, relaxing honeymoon. Ha._


	3. Chapter 3

"I win."

Alexis eyed the pile of Strat-O chips piled in front of Miles, and then looked down at his own, much smaller pile in bemusement. "Congratulations, m'lord," he said dryly. "For the third time."

"Don't worry, Captain," Miles said, with deliberately obnoxious magnanimity. "You're in good company. The Emperor himself has lost to me in Strat-O. Many times." He set to work stacking the tokens in orderly, color coded piles, and contemplated whether or not he should torment Alexis with another game.

"Perhaps you should see if the Emperor might be interested in passing the time with a game," Alexis said, in a delicate tone that annoyed Miles to no end.

"Gregor is busy," Miles replied. "And you just earned yourself another trouncing."

An hour later, Alexis was threatening to resign if forced to go another round. Miles took pity on the poor man and let him go. He sat for a moment contemplating the walls, which were filled with book discs, hundreds and hundreds of them. This was the library, after all, and an impressive one it was for a space ship. Miles, who had appropriated the room as a sort of office, had had time in the last few days to browse through the selection at length. Lots of military history, unsurprisingly, but he could also see Gregor's influence in the selection of poetry.

Finally Miles sighed and stood, resigning himself to the fact that no one was going to materialize to entertain him. They had to be approaching the last wormhole, anyway, which meant that this particular stretch of uselessness was close to being over. Not that he would be much more useful once they'd reached Komarr; he had the suspicion that uselessness was part of his new job description as Lord Consort. He couldn't help but think it probably explained why Barrayar had not a few mad Empresses in its history books. No one ever talked about them much – they tended to be hidden away in the attic when they became more annoying than useful, which wasn't hard to do when your primary function in life was decorative, but they were there if one cared to look. Miles had found himself caring in the days before the wedding, and his foray into the Imperial Residence's biography section had left him faintly chilled. _Bored to madness_ had been his private diagnosis, and he counted himself very lucky to have other titles and identities he could assume when necessary – Lord Vorkosigan and, perhaps more importantly, Lord Auditor.

_But not Admiral Naismith. Not anymore. _

It had been a long time since that had stung – he hadn't really looked back at the Dendarii with anything like regret since he'd said _yes_ to Gregor years ago. But Allegre's news had rocked him almost as much as the news of the wormhole had; Gregor's deception had added insult to injury. For the first time in almost five years, Miles found himself itching to put on his old grey and whites and find out if they still fit.

Not that he would ever be allowed to. Or at least the Lord Consort certainly wouldn't.

Gregor was in their cabin, sitting on the bed and reading, when Miles returned. "Hi," Miles said, hovering a bit uncertainly in the doorway before entering.

"Hello," Gregor said, looking up from his handviewer. "Have you decided to start speaking to me again?"

Miles pressed his lips together and made himself busy at his wardrobe, picking needlessly at his neatly folded clothes. "I wasn't not speaking to you."

"Five words over the course of the last two days don't count."

Miles shrugged.

"Look," Gregor said, "we're going to make the jump into Komarran space in half an hour, and after that I'm not going to have much time for personal issues."

"It's not an issue," Miles said, throwing himself into one of the armchairs.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"I have nothing more to say on the subject."

Gregor gave a short, mirthless laugh. "I find that hard to believe."

"What do you want me to say? I wish you hadn't kept the news about the Dendarii from me, for whatever reason. I don't really have anything else to say."

Gregor didn't answer for a moment, and Miles didn't look at him. Finally Gregor said, "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I just wanted to avoid unnecessary –"

"Trouble?"

"Stress," Gregor finished firmly. "I really didn't think you were going to do anything rash. You're right. You know better now." He paused. "Though obviously it did cross your mind."

"Of course it did," Miles sighed. "Can't help it." He leaned his head back, stared at the ceiling, and decided it was time for a change of subject. "What did Allegre say in your last briefing?"

There was a brief pause, and for a second Miles thought Gregor might insist on continuing their discussion. But finally, with only the faintest of resigned sighs, Gregor replied, "There was an incident in Solstice a few hours ago. A bomb outside the Counselor's private residence. ImpSec disarmed it and no one was hurt, but that makes five such incidences since the wormhole closed, two in Solstice and three in other major cities. I think it's just a matter of time before they miss one. ImpSec's stretched too thin for the circumstances."

"Have they arrested anyone?" Miles turned his head to look at Gregor.

"Yes, they caught the man who planted this last one on his way out – it's how they knew it was there. They're going to interrogate him, but he has an artificial fast penta allergy. Komarran terrorists often prove remarkably stubborn, or so I've heard."

"How unfortunate for him."

"Quite. Allegre is getting very twitchy. I'm going to have to give in eventually and allow him to make ImpSec's presence more obvious."

"He's still pushing for that then?"

"Oh yes." Gregor rubbed his eyes. "In every briefing."

"I still think it's a bad idea. They can't possibly have failed to realize there are hundreds of ImpSec agents patrolling the city. Having them out in uniform will just make people jumpy. Or jumpier, rather."

"I know."

Miles sat up. "Have you talked to Allegre about our protection? Are they going to let us downside?"

"They'd rather not. The ship is far more securable than any place on Komarr, and they're very concerned about the reaction your father's presence on the planet might provoke."

Miles winced. There'd been good reasons for his parents skipping that part of the trip after all. "Ah. Yes."

"I'd get comfortable here for the duration."

Miles looked around their suite. "Well, it could be worse. At least we're not crammed into bunks. And the food is definitely better than most Imperial couriers I've been on. But aren't you concerned about the, um, image that's going to project?"

"What do you mean?"

Miles shrugged. "It just seems like the wrong time to distance yourself. Da doesn't need to come with us if we go downside." He hesitated and then added, trying not to sound grudging, "I don't even need to go with you, if they think that would be safer."

"Perhaps," Gregor said. "We'll have to wait and see how things develop."

Miles slumped. "I'm tired of waiting. I hate feeling useless."

"Really? I never knew."

Miles glared. "You're being cheeky."

Gregor shrugged unrepentantly. Miles gnawed on a fingernail and eventually heard the click of Gregor returning to his handviewer. He thought he should get up and do something useful, but damned if he could think of what that might be.

Neither of them spoke for a time, until at last Miles felt the disorientation and nausea of a wormhole jump. He blinked, shook his head, and saw Gregor doing the same.

"Well," Miles said. "We're here." He hesitated. "Gregor . . ."

"What?"

"I wanted to mention . . . before things get really hectic . . . I've been thinking."

"Uh oh." Gregor pushed his handviewer away.

Miles ignored this. "About the Dendarii. After all this is over, well, wouldn't you say that's a situation worthy of an Imperial Auditor?"

Gregor frowned. "Perhaps," he said carefully. "But I'm not sure . . . Miles, I thought we agreed that you'd take more bureaucratic cases from now on. Safer ones."

"We did," Miles said. "But they are a valuable part of the military, you said so yourself. Unless, of course," he added, shooting Gregor a sharp look, "you were just saying that to placate me."

"No," Gregor said hastily. "I meant it. They're valuable in any number of ways, as they've proven repeatedly over the years."

Miles nodded, mollified. "And Allegre said that it would be difficult for ImpSec to retake the fleet."

Gregor's lips quirked. "That's not exactly what he said, but I see your point." He shook his head. "I don't know, Miles. It would be a highly volatile, very dangerous situation, you can't deny that. And there is Quinn to think of as well. It could seriously undermine her command if Admiral Naismith suddenly resurrected himself."

"True," Miles said, slumping. Now that Gregor had mentioned it, he could well imagine Elli's reaction to the suggestion, and it wasn't pretty. "It was a thought, though. One I would like you not to dismiss immediately."

"Well . . ." Gregor said slowly. "I'll think about it, all right? I don't like the idea, and I think Elli will like it even less, but I will take it under consideration."

Miles nodded. It was more than he'd thought he'd get, really. "Thank you."

They broke Komarran orbit an hour later, and Gregor disappeared into a succession of meetings with Komarran governmental officials and Barrayaran military officers stationed downside. Miles caught a glimpse of Duv Galeni and thought that the man looked like he'd aged about twenty years since Miles had last seen him only a week ago. Miles considered sitting in on the meetings – certainly no one was going to tell him he couldn't, that was for damn sure – but he was still figuring out how to walk the precarious tightrope that was his power as Lord Consort. Miles had no intention of simply sitting about and looking pretty, but he had to recognize that Count's Heir, Imperial Auditor, and Lord Consort was a potentially dangerous consolidation of power. He thought it best to back off a bit, at least in the beginning, and avoid projecting the image that he was helping Gregor rule; it would weaken Gregor's power base, make Miles even more of a target than he was already, and set a dangerous precedent – not to mention send the entire Council of Counts howling in outrage.

And in any case, there were other matters to be concerned with. Elli's shuttle docked with the ship about four hours after they'd broken Komarran orbit. Miles met her in the shuttlebay, accompanied by the head of his personal security force, Colonel Inceri, who'd been following him around ever since they broke orbit. She was escorted by two ImpSec agents, whom Miles dismissed with a flick of his hand, and looked more exhausted than Miles thought he'd ever seen her.

"Have you slept in the last three days?" he asked as he led her down the long, bright, winding hallway of the ship toward the library. Inceri trailed behind them, acceptably unobtrusive.

"Not much," she admitted. "I could use some coffee."

"We can manage that," Miles said, as the door to the library slid open, revealing Alexis working at the comconsole, "and a cabin, too. Your clearance is high enough. Alexis, you remember Admiral Quinn."

"Yes, of course," Alexis said, offering Quinn his hand.

"I'd like the room for a bit, if you don't mind. And could you make arrangements for a cabin to be prepared for Admiral Quinn?"

"Yes, my lord." Alexis made a quick note on the elaborate personal organizer he kept meticulously up to date. "Anything else?"

"Coffee, please. And food?" he added, glancing at Quinn, who nodded.

Alexis took his leave. Inceri, apparently satisfied that no crafty Komarran assassins had been lying in wait, took up his position outside the door. Miles waved Elli into the seat across from him, and she sank into it gratefully. The two of them looked at each other, and then Elli started to laugh, covering her face with her hand. Miles eyed her in mild alarm – it was the hysterical laughter of someone who has reached the absolute limits of his mental and physical capacities, and he'd never heard it from Elli – but after a minute she seemed to get herself under control.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I have these moments when I think about the whole thing and it just seems funny somehow."

"I wish I could think of it that way," Miles said dryly.

"I can't, most of the time." She raked a hand through her short brown curls, appearing suddenly quite sober. "Just when I'm very, very tired." She leaned back and looked at Miles. "They're not going to do anything, are they?"

"Not immediately, no," Miles admitted reluctantly. "There's too much else happening. But eventually –"

"Yes," she said, a trifle bitterly, "eventually."

"Have you thought . . ." Miles stopped. "That is, do you think you might be able to take the fleet yourself, somehow? Do you have enough people who are loyal to you personally –" He broke off as she began shaking her head.

"It would be very foolish, I think, for me to try that not knowing the situation. It's possible, of course, if those who are loyal to me are –" _still alive_, Miles could almost hear her thinking "— in a strategically viable position. Otherwise . . ."

"Yeah," Miles agreed glumly.

"You did it once. I remember. You re-took the fleet from Oser all by yourself."

"In my socks," Miles recalled with perverse fondness. "But I wasn't all by myself. I had Bel, Arde, Baz, Elena, and Tung." He sighed deeply. "I wish Tung weren't halfway back to Earth right now!"

"I have people too," she said, "if I knew for sure how to get in touch with them without alerting whoever it is."

Miles frowned. "Who do you think it is? Someone from within the fleet?"

She shook her head and then shrugged. "That would make the most sense, but on the other hand, I really can't imagine who it would be."

"No one's been left unpromoted?" Miles persisted. "No one disgruntled or dissatisfied?"

"No one I'm aware of. Things were very stable when I left, or I'd never have come at all."

"Right." Miles went to bite his nails, and realized they were down to the quick and would probably start bleeding if he did. Instead he folded his hands together and contemplated his boots. The coffee arrived, borne by Pym, and shortly thereafter a plate of sandwiches.

"There'll be real food in a few hours," Miles told Elli, as Pym poured the coffee. "It's not bad, either. Better than what you were getting fed on the ImpSec courier, I'm sure."

She made a face. "It would have to be."

Miles let her sip her coffee and pick at a sandwich in peace for a while. He wondered if it wouldn't be best just to pack her off to sleep and have this conversation later. Just as he was about to suggest this, however, she said, "Miles, I know what you're thinking."

"Sorry?" Miles asked.

"You're thinking the quickest way to finish this would be you – or Admiral Naismith, rather."

"I . . . had thought that," Miles admitted. "It's not very reasonable at the moment, and I had promised Gregor that I would start taking less dangerous cases, but afterward I might persuade him to –"

"No, Miles," Elli said, shaking her head. "I want us to get this very clear right now. You can't."

"As an Imperial Auditor –" Miles began.

"_No_, Miles. As an Imperial Auditor or Admiral Naismith or – or whatever else you are, you can't. Miles, you are _legendary_ in the Dendarii. I'm Fleet Admiral, but I'm not Admiral Naismith, and it took me a long time to establish my authority with them after you disappeared on us."

"Don't tell me they gave you trouble," Miles said, raising his eyebrows.

"No one specifically. That would have been easier to deal with. No, it was just . . ." Elli paused. "People doubted me like they never did you. And there were a few who questioned the legitimacy of my claim to the admiralty – not to my face, of course, but it was impossible not to hear the rumors."

"They never –" Miles broke off. He'd never before considered what it must have been like for her to return to the fleet, alone, and try to step into his shoes. Well, perhaps not _never_; especially at the beginning, he'd thought of it with an envy that had made him physically ill. That it might not have gone completely smoothly or been immediately accepted – that, he'd never thought of. "I was very clear in my message to the fleet!"

"You were, but . . ." She shrugged. "Those sorts of messages aren't impossible to create through . . . other means."

He shook his head. "I didn't know."

"Well, we didn't talk for awhile after you, erm, went home. And I didn't want to seem like I was complaining. But it took me time, Miles. A good year and a half at least, and if you waltzed back in like you'd never left – it would undo all of that. I have to handle this or I'll never be more than acting admiral in their eyes."

"I . . . see," Miles said. He frowned down at the sandwich remains. "Well, I certainly won't go over your head about it."

She relaxed, fractionally. "Thank you."

"Gregor likely wouldn't have agreed to it in the end anyway. He'll be relieved not to have to argue the matter with me."

She nodded, and raised her hand to her mouth as she yawned helplessly. "I'm sorry," she said.

Miles shook his head. "No, no, don't be. Look, why don't you get some sleep? We can talk about everything in a few hours with Gregor and General Allegre. But I have to warn you, the Dendarii just aren't going to be anyone's priority right now."

"I understand," she said. She watched him summon his Armsman with a touch of his fingers to his wristcom. He thought she might be a little bit fascinated by him and the ways he'd changed, the little things about his daily existence that were radically different from Admiral Naismith's. He'd noticed it back on Barrayar in the days leading up to the wedding, and he'd wondered if there was any regret there at all, if sometimes she thought that she might have been able to make it as a dirt-sucking Barrayaran Countess. But no, she seemed happy in her job, mutinies and all. He'd come not to regret her decisions – or his – but there were times when he missed her all the same.

The door sighed open, revealing Pym. "My lord?" he said.

"Please show Admiral Quinn to her cabin," Miles said. He stood to follow her to the door. "I'll see you later, all right?"

"Yeah," she said, but paused on her way out the door and turned to look at him, a strange expression on her face. "Miles. You really agreed to take less dangerous cases?"

Miles shrugged. "Compromise is part of marriage, or so I hear." _Not something you and I would have ever done particularly well_. "I refuse to give up my job as Auditor, but the – I want to say value, but that's not quite right. The _meaning_ of my life has changed, since I made a commitment to Gregor. I have a responsibility not to die."

"You always did," she pointed out. "I remember the look on Illyan's face when I told him you were dead . . ."

"Yeah, but it's different now." Something he would do well to remember more often, he supposed, and let go at last and for good any notion of handling the situation with the Dendarii himself. He'd known from the start that that was little more than a pipe dream. He felt a bit like a leashed animal jerking at its chain; he was annoyed by the restriction and felt the need to tug at it, but knew it wouldn't give. And maybe didn't even want it to, not really.

"So many things are," she murmured, almost too low for Miles to hear.

"And anyway," he added, after a small but loaded pause, "getting married is supposed to make you less likely to end up in a body bag, isn't it?"

It perhaps wasn't at all kind of him to throw her words back at her that way, but all she did was raise an eyebrow in acknowledgement before following Pym.

Alone once more, he flung himself back into his chair and propped his boots up on the one she'd vacated. He felt underfed, information-wise, on all fronts, and he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one. He'd get the information eventually, but only after it had been filtered through Allegre and Gregor. That made him itch. Perhaps he should ask Gregor to appoint him Auditor in charge of the wormhole case. He trusted Allegre's judgment, but all the same . . .

_Or maybe you should just get used to the idea that this is what it's going to be like a lot of the time, and you can't make Gregor appoint you Auditor whenever you get dissatisfied or bored._

It was unfortunate but true. Miles stood again, paced the short length of the library, and rubbed the back of his neck. He wanted information, dammit. Direct, unfiltered information that hadn't been "distilled" eight times before reaching his ears. Barring that, he wanted _off this damn ship._

He was forced to settle for pacing up and down the corridors, Inceri at his heels, trying to avoid all the earnest people wanting to know if they could do anything for m'lord Consort. He took to ducking away whenever he saw anyone coming, which eventually led him into areas less populated, where they hadn't bothered to cover up the plumbing running along overhead. Miles ignored Inceri's diffident suggestion that they might turn back in favor of choosing yet another corridor at random – though this one, it turned out, was not as empty as he'd expected. Duv Galeni was keying himself into his cabin at the far end, frowning in apparent abstraction.

"Duv," Miles said.

Galeni looked up, spied him, and blinked in confusion. "My Lord Consort. Er . . . you know there's nothing down this way but maintenance corridors, don't you?"

"Yeah. I'm avoiding people." Miles raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even realize there were cabins down here."

"Well, space is at a premium right now," Galeni said, as the door slid open and he gestured Miles inside. Inceri did a quick check and then took up his usual post outside. "And I think I'm being punished," Galeni added as the door sighed shut. "I'm not exactly in General Allegre's good graces."

The cabin was tiny, but there was a table and two chairs. Miles flipped one of them around and sat backwards in it, draping his arms over the back. He watched Galeni drop his uniform jacket on the bed. "You're the goat, eh?"

Galeni gave a rather weary nod. "It happened on my watch. Beer?"

"Yes, please."

Galeni rummaged around for a bit in the small refrigeration unit and reappeared with two brown bottles. He handed one to Miles, and then raised his own in a silent toast before taking the first foamy swallow. Miles followed suit. Good stuff. "How are things going?" Miles asked.

Galeni shrugged, and then shook his head. "We don't know any more than we did before. Everyone is very on edge." He looked pretty on edge himself. But then, Galeni had a wife on Barrayar, and a whole pack of in-laws. Everyone had someone on the other side.

"People seem a bit trigger happy, do they?"

"Yes." Galeni glanced up. "I understand I have you to thank for ImpSec not turning Komarr into a police state."

Miles waved his beer dismissively. "I don't have Allegre's job. I can afford to think more long-term." He took another sip. "He is partially right though. About the average Komarran's feelings about the wormhole closing, for instance."

Galeni nodded. "I know."

"And . . ." Miles sighed. "We really can't expect them to behave when the best opportunity for revolt in the last half century has just presented itself. I don't know if I would, if I were Komarran."

Galeni let out a snort of laughter. "I _know_ you wouldn't."

Miles shrugged. "Still," he said after a short silence, "it seems like treating every Komarran like a potential terrorist would just be a self-fulfilling expectation."

"I think you're right." Galeni took a swig of his own beer. "Though five bombs in three days does not bode particularly well for the future."

"True. But history has shown that when extremism is mistaken for the cultural norm, decent people end up doing really dumb things."

"The will to be stupid, eh?" Galeni said, cracking a smile.

"Exactly."

The silence stretched. They both finished their beers, and Duv silently retrieved two more. "I have to say," he said, handing Miles the bottle, "I'd have thought you'd be sitting in on everything."

Miles took a long swallow, and then began picking at the label. "I don't know how much influence I should appear to have. I'm an Auditor, but I'm not assigned to this case. As Consort I have . . . well, there's no precedent, is there? Technically I only have the same rights as an Empress, which is to say a great deal of privilege but almost no real power." He sighed. "Maybe later, when people are more used to the idea, but for now I've decided to error on the side of caution."

"Hmm," Galeni said, suppressing a smile. "Shall we take bets on how long that will last?"

"Until I get really bored," Miles agreed ruefully. "I admit, I didn't expect the first test to come so soon, or to be like this."

Miles declined the third beer, since it looked like the first two were on the verge of putting Duv straight to sleep. He found himself a lot less twitchy as he left Duv's cabin and made his way back toward the more populated parts of the ship, but still itching for something to do. Perhaps it was time to rope Alexis into another game of Strat-O. Or, if Alexis put his foot down and refused to be humiliated again, there were always his parents. Sometimes it really paid to have people around who were familially obligated to put up with you no matter what mood you were in.

*~*~*

 

There were raised voices coming from Aral and Cordelia's room. Gregor hesitated minutely as he approached; that was definitely Miles's voice and the other was most certainly Aral's. Gregor winced; he was not at all sure that his nerves were up for walking into the middle of a family fray. He paused to listen just outside the door, but he couldn't make out the words at all, and he was finally forced to resign himself and key the door open. He'd rather hoped for a reasonably pleasant or at least calm evening, but it seemed that was simply not in the cards.

"I don't care if you are an Imperial Auditor, you cannot simply declare illegal moves to be –"

"You're just mad because I'm winning."

"I was playing Strat-O long before –"

"Long before I was born? Watch out, sir, I think you just turned into Gran'da right in front of me."

Gregor stared and then struggled not to laugh. Cordelia, sipping tea placidly with book disk in one hand, gave Gregor a long-suffering look that made him wonder exactly how long this discussion had been going on.

"Don't try and change the subject."

"I've used that maneuver dozens of times –"

"And it's been illegal every one of them, I assure you."

"Ahem," Gregor said.

Miles looked up. "Ah, hello. Are you done then?"

"For the moment," Gregor said, lowering himself into a vacant chair. "Nothing new," he added, answering the unspoken question. "I heard Quinn arrived. Did you speak to her?"

"Yes. She doesn't know much either. I told her she could join a pretty big club at this point. I think we should have uniforms with hats and possibly a secret handshake. What do you think?"

"I think you're all mad," Cordelia pronounced.

Gregor shrugged. "Very likely. And getting madder by the day, apparently," he added, eyeing Miles, who was now stacking his Strat-O chips meticulously.

Miles caught him watching and knocked the pile over. "What?"

Gregor shook his head, not sure if he was amused or genuinely concerned. "Nothing."

The next few days slid by in a blur of meetings and meals with high Komarran officials and Barryaran intelligence agents. Miles sat in on most of them, which Gregor was grateful for – he appreciated that Miles was endeavoring to keep some distance between himself and Gregor's job, but if there was ever a time when he wanted Miles's unique perspective, it was now. Not even that seemed to help as time went on and they found themselves no closer to figuring out who was responsible for the attacks. Allegre and Duv Galeni were both starting to look a bit desperate, and Gregor tried to tell them, in not so many words, that he'd rather have _no_ suspect than the _wrong_ suspect. The last thing they wanted was to scapegoat some random Komarran group, however guilty of other things they might be, and make them into martyrs.

Thus, a full week spent in orbit over Komarr saw them at a standstill. Gregor seemed to have even run out of meetings, and he didn't think that had ever happened before. The two of them retreated to their quarters, where Gregor stretched out on the bed, ignoring his book disc in favor of watching Miles pace their length of their cabin in shapeless black slacks and an untucked white shirt.

"There hasn't been an attempted terrorist attack on Komarr in two days," Miles said, reaching the door and turning on his heel to pace back toward Gregor. "That makes me nervous."

Gregor sighed and leaned back to look up at the pale smooth ceiling, much too close overhead for his liking. Claustrophia was setting in. "Maybe the initial reaction is over. Maybe there won't be any more."

"Ha."

"I know."

Miles stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the room, chewing on his lower lip. Gregor gestured Miles over to sit on the edge of bed, and took his hand. Through Miles's fingers Gregor could feel the tension running through his entire body. Gregor tugged on Miles's hand until he lay down reluctantly, looking up at the ceiling rather than at Gregor. Gregor tried to remember the last time they'd made love – their first day on Sergyar, he guessed, before the concert. Almost two weeks ago, but neither of them seemed to feel the inclination at all now. It would just feel wrong, somehow, and he suspected that Miles was still annoyed at him about the Dendarii. There hadn't been any outright hostility, of course, but there was a distinct chill in the air whenever the subject arose.

On the other hand . . . maybe it was exactly what the two of them needed. Let off a bit of steam, relieve some of the tension, so to speak. It might even help clear their heads. And God only knew when they'd have the opportunity again.

"Miles," Gregor said, squeezing his hand. Miles turned his head to look at him. "Would you –"

There was a knock at the door. Gregor started. Miles shot to his feet and hit the control; Allegre entered, and when Gregor saw the look on his face, he sat up immediately and reached for his boots. "What is it?"

"One of the outlying escort ships picked up a bod-pod a few minutes ago."

"A bod-pod?" Miles repeated, frowning. "That's strange, isn't it? You don't usually use bod-pods in such a high traffic area."

"No, Sire. The crew thought it was strange as well, but you can't just ignore bod-pods, so they brought it in."

Gregor sucked in a quick breath. "Tell me it wasn't a bomb. Tell me one of our ships didn't get blown up by a bomb hidden in a bod-pod."

"No, Sire, they scanned it first. There was someone inside."

Gregor breathed an almost silent sigh of relief, but didn't relax just yet. He assumed Allegre wouldn't be here if it had been some random unlucky passenger off a passing freight. "Who was it?"

"Sire, it was the missing agent from the Dendarii Fleet. Lieutenant Vladimir Kosovich."

There was a short, somewhat baffled silence. "Really?" Miles finally said.

Allegre bowed briefly. "Yes, my Lord Consort."

"Is he alive?"

"Yes, Sire. Badly injured, and none the better for his time in the bod-pod – we think he was out there approximately three hours, which is long enough that tracing its trajectory is going to be tricky. He's not yet conscious, but when he is –"

"I want to talk to him," Miles said instantly. "And Quinn will too, I imagine."

"What does this mean, Guy?" Gregor asked.

Allegre frowned, spreading his hands. "That depends on what the agent has to say. It could be that they were just disposing of someone who was going to be trouble later on. Or it could be a message of some kind."

"Which are you inclined to?" Gregor asked.

Allegre hesitated. "At this point, Sire, I am inclined to the latter."

"Why?"

"The nature of his injuries, mostly."

"Which are?" Miles said.

"He's been beaten." Miles swore, and Gregor hissed quietly. Allegre grimaced his agreement. "Considering where the bod-pod was ejected, I think we have to assume that means that whoever has taken over knows who he is and who the Dendarii's secret employer is. Of course we can't confirm anything until he wakes."

Allegre took his leave shortly therafter. Gregor sat back on the bed and watched bemusedly as Miles paced around the room once more.

"More waiting," Miles muttered rebelliously, and then stopped to look over at Gregor. "What were you about to ask me when Allegre came in?"

Gregor gave him a weak smile. "I was going to suggest we start with backrubs and see what happened."

"Oh." Whatever Miles had expected, that clearly wasn't it. "Sorry, I –"

"It's okay." Gregor waved a hand as he fell back onto the bed. "I rather guessed that ship had jumped."

"Yeah, I just . . . too keyed up, you know?"

"It might help," Gregor replied carefully, not wanting to sound opportunistic.

Miles looked dubious. "Maybe. I don't know – later, okay? Sorry."

"Perfectly all right," Gregor said, though he thought that maybe it wasn't, at that. He'd never known Miles to turn down sex before, not with him at least, and it unnerved him a little. Disappointed him as well, as Gregor would rather have liked an uncomplicated hour or two where all he had to think about was Miles, but mostly unnerved him. He'd felt all along that things were not quite well between them and this just seemed to confirm it.

On the other hand, Gregor thought, watching as Miles paced twitchily from one end of the room the other, maybe he was just being paranoid.

Fortunately Miles didn't have to wait very long. Two hours later, they were both embroiled in a meeting with a few of Gregor's economics advisors, who happened to be attending a conference on Komarr when the wormhole closed, on the long-term repercussions of the situation. Usually any discussion of the budget had the same affect as a sleeptimer on Miles, and it was a mark of how completely out of his mind with inertia Miles was that he was willing to sit in on an economics meeting, Gregor thought. He thought his own suggestion earlier might have helped rather more than this meeting would, and had to quash some unfair and unkind thoughts on why Miles might be more willing to do something he usually hated than make love with Gregor when a rare opportunity arose. It wasn't at all the same thing and Gregor knew it, even if the voice in the back of his head didn't.

Gregor had managed to finally shake off his own distraction and was just about to bring the meeting to a close, when Allegre's personal secretary knocked and then stepped in. "Yes?" Gregor said, raising his eyebrows at the man.

"General Allegre said to inform you that he's awake, Sire."

"Ah, excellent. We're done here, gentlemen. I'd like the short-term import-export loss projections by tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, Sire," they said in unison, and stood as Gregor and Miles followed the secretary out of the room and down the hallway to the infirmary, where they were joined by Admiral Quinn. She exchanged an unreadable look with Miles and a respectful but distant nod with Gregor.

The agent – Lieutenant Kosovich – did indeed appear as though he'd been beaten, despite the best efforts of Gregor's private physician. One eye was swollen almost shut, one hand was bandaged, and he was short of breath from several broken ribs. He also had a fairly severe concussion, the physician's report had mentioned earlier. All the same, when Gregor entered his one good eye widened and he tried first to sit and then to stand.

"Sire," he said, entirely overwhelmed. And then, glimpsing Miles, "My Lord Consort. Admiral Quinn!"

"Lie down, please, Lieutenant," Gregor said. "There's no rush. Are you in pain? Do you need anything?"

"No, Sire, you don't understand – they told me to wait, but I have to tell you – I'm sorry, m'lord Consort, it happened so fast, almost the first thing she did was arrest me, and after that I couldn't –"

Gregor made a palms down gesture. "Lieutenant Kosovich, please. Calm down. Any information you have on who –"

"Cavilo, Sire, her name is Cavilo."

Miles swore, and so did Elli, rather more colorfully. Gregor froze, wondering if he'd heard wrong, but knowing he hadn't. Cavilo. _Just when you think you're moving forward . . . _He cleared his throat. "Did she have a message for us by any chance, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sire." He paused to moisten his lips, which looked dry and cracked. Gregor caught a nurse's eye, and she stepped forward to offer him water, but Kosovich shook his head, his attention fully on Gregor. "Sire, she told me to ask you – and the Lord Consort – if you liked your wedding present."

"Our wedding present?" Gregor echoed in bewilderment.

"What the – _son of a bitch_!" Miles burst out. He spun around to face Allegre. "It wasn't Komarrans! It was _her_!"

There was a short silence. "Miles, you don't really think –" Gregor finally began.

"What else would she be talking about?" Miles replied. "No, it's her. It's not Komarrans with a political motive, it's _her_ out for revenge, fifteen years after the fact."

"She did say it would happen when we least expected it," Gregor murmured.

"Ha," Miles said. "True enough. My God, what a bitch." He sounded admiring. He paced two steps, turned on his heel and paced back. "Lieutenant, what else can you tell us about what happened? How did she do it?"

"It happened in a sleep cycle," he said, spreading his hands in an apologetic gesture. "I don't know exactly how she did it. All I know is that when I went to sleep everything was fine, just as you left it, Admiral Quinn." The look he shot Quinn was anxious. "And then I was hauled out of bed by these two thugs, huge, hulking types. They looked like brothers or – or cousins. Or something. They didn't say a single word, and when I struggled one of them broke my hand. Just snapped it like a twig. Then they threw me in the brig." He wound down exhaustedly and leaned his head back on the pillow, face white with exertion.

Miles, face alight with satisfaction, turned to Gregor. "You realize this completely changes how we have to handle this. She wants it to be personal – we'll give her personal. She doesn't know who she's dealing with now."

"Neither do we, really," Gregor reminded him. If he thought he'd been unnerved earlier, that was nothing compared to now. He'd forgotten what Miles was like in such circumstances. "Fifteen years is a long time – who knows what's happened to her since? Who knows what she's like?"

"I do," Miles said instantly. "She'll be even crazier. She'd have to be, to pull off a stunt like that." And then, with relish, "I bet her looks are starting to go."

"My Lord Consort," Allegre broke in, "having read about this woman in your file –"

"And mine, I'm sure," Gregor muttered.

"Yes, Sire. But having read about her, I have to _very strongly insist_ that neither of you has contact of any kind with her. You'd be giving her exactly what she wants."

"In this case, that might be exactly what's called for." Miles finally stopped pacing and frowned fiercely. "The question is, what does she want?" He turned to Lieutenant Kosovich. "Did she say anything else?"

"No, m'lord Consort. Not to me."

"It could just be chaos she's after," Gregor said. "Especially if she is, as you say, crazier."

Miles seemed to chew on this for a few moments. "Mmm," he said. "No. There's a method here, and a motive, and an end. I just don't know what they are yet. We're very alike, remember," he pointed out, at Gregor's look. "Except I serve you and Barrayar, and Cavilo serves Cavilo. Not very well at that," he muttered darkly.

"Hmm," Gregor said. "Guy? What do you suggest?"

Allegre sighed and cast a cautious glance in Miles's direction. "To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced, Sire, that the wormhole incident is what this Cavilo woman is referring to when she says 'wedding present.' There were, as you know, six gifts seized by ImpSec that were intended to physically harm you, and we've thus far been unable to trace the origins of two of them. 'Wedding present' could be quite literal."

"No," Miles said instantly. "That's too small for her. Cavilo thinks big."

"Unless she's become petty as well as crazy," Quinn pointed out. "Not completely out of the question."

"And there are things about your theory, my Lord Consort, that simply don't add up," Allegre continued. "For instance, the pilot."

Miles chewed on his lip briefly. "Ah."

"As mercenaries," Allegre said, more to Gregor than to anyone else, "the Dendarii would not be persuaded by the idea of dying for a cause. They're prepared to give up their lives in pursuit of a contract, but the sacrifice of a jump pilot, of which they have an extremely limited number, for something like this would strike them as –"

"Senseless," Quinn finished, nodding.

"And you can't force a jump pilot to do what that pilot did," Gregor added thoughtfully. "At least not from my understanding of it."

"No," Miles agreed reluctantly. "You can't."

"I'm sorry, m'lord," Allegre said after a pause. "But I just don't think the pieces all fit here."

Miles frowned. "I don't know. You're right, but I have a – call it a gut instinct. And I know how we could find out – safely," he added, when Allegre opened his mouth. Gregor raised his eyebrows at him. "Send a message," he said, "personally recorded by you and me. She won't be able to resist replying, and even if her answer's all lies – which it will be – then at least we'll have more information. At the very least, we can confirm what exactly she means by 'wedding present.'"

Gregor nodded slowly. "Guy?"

"That's . . . acceptable," Allegre said, with obvious reluctance.

"Good," Miles said, with malicious glee. "Excellent, in fact."

"Miles," Gregor said, "just what are we going to say to her?"

Miles grinned. "We're going to be very direct. She won't know how to interpret that. Lieutenant Kosovich, you have been extremely helpful." He grasped the young officer's good hand. "I'd like you to talk to Admiral Quinn and General Allegre. Any other information you have – who else was arrested, for instance, any weaknesses you might have observed before you were seized – would be very much appreciated." With that Miles strode purposefully out the door, letting it swing shut behind him.

Gregor exchanged glances with Allegre, who grimaced, and Quinn, who simply shook her head. Kosovich stared after Miles. "I used to hear stories, of course, in the fleet, and my predecessor left me information about Admiral Naismith, but I thought it was exaggerated."

"Some of it is," Quinn replied.

"But not all of it?" He looked up at her. "Is it true that he once seized the fleet out from under another admiral wearing only his socks?"

Gregor couldn't help it. He started to laugh. The idea of Miles trying to re-take the fleet in the nude save for a pair of socks, was just too much after the week he'd had. "Well, no," Quinn admitted, grinning. "He just didn't have any boots. He was wearing an enemy uniform and socks." She shrugged. "Miles is – can be – very charming. And when he's got some forward momentum building, he's very difficult to stop."

"Nigh impossible, I would say," Gregor said, still smiling despite himself.

"God help us," Allegre muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, what do you think?"

Gregor looked up from where he sat at the comconsole, reading the text Miles had prepared for their message to Cavilo. "I'm not quite done, but I do have to ask." He paused. "Do you really think we should provoke the power hungry lunatic?"

"Power hungry lunatic bitch from hell," Miles corrected, coming to stand over Gregor's shoulder to re-read a few choice phrases. He'd worried that his skills of provocation might have grown rusty in his years as an Auditor, but now he thought not. He was pretty sure he knew exactly what length of stick he should use to poke the rabid mongoose. "I think we should make it her title."

Gregor craned his neck around to look at Miles. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Don't you see? It's so much _easier_ if it's Cavilo. Komarrans make it messy and political, and it'd get a lot uglier before it was over."

"You don't think this could get ugly?"

Miles waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, but not in the same way. Not with the same sorts of repercussions."

Gregor turned back to the screen. "Well, that much is true. Still, there's something about the amount of enthusiasm with which you're approaching this that rather worries me."

"I'm just relieved. Power hungry lunatic bitches I can deal with. Komarran terrorists are much more complicated. And wearing." He leaned against Gregor's chair and rubbed a hand down Gregor's arm. It occurred to him suddenly that this might be rather more complicated – in some ways at least – for Gregor than it was for him. "Anyway, we've both faced a lot worse than her. Part of me likes the idea of going up against her again, knowing what I do now."

"Making mincemeat out of her, you mean?"

"Something like that. What, you don't like the idea at least a little bit?"

"Hmm." Gregor scrolled through the text again, apparently thinking, and then shrugged. "Let's just say that she has ceased to have any sort of personal significance for me. She had, anyway, right up till yesterday." He drummed his fingers on the edge of the comconsole. "You really think it's her? I have to agree with Allegre, there are things about it that just don't add up."

"Oh yes," Miles said. He grabbed a chair, flipped it around, and straddled it backwards, resting his chin on his hands. "I know. And maybe I'm completely wrong."

"But?"

"I don't think I am. I can't explain the pilot," he added at Gregor's rather dubious look. "But every instinct I have says she's the one behind this."

Gregor nodded. "All right. Let's do it."

It didn't take much preparation, though there was some discussion over where they would record it, the ship not offering many options. In the end, they decided to do it sitting side by side in front of a blank wall with the Barrayaran Imperial seal affixed to it. "To remind her that she's not dealing with an idiot," Miles said. "She's not dealing with some ensign who's been separated from his C.O. and cut off from his chain of command, and she's not dealing with you while you're . . ."

"Young, stupid, and depressed?"

"Exactly. She's bitten off more than she can chew this time. Even she has to realize that eventually."

"And then?" Gregor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"And then she'll get desperate," Miles said, smiling grimly. "And that will make her stupid. Her will to be stupid is, apparently, second to none. Except mine, perhaps, at certain points in my twenties." Another reminder of how much alike they were or had once been. He'd managed to escape with mind and body mostly intact. It did not presently look like Cavilo would do the same. Miles did wonder though, about where she'd come from, what sort of pressure cooker had popped her out, twisted and crazy and determined to never let anyone have the upper hand. He'd had Barrayar, with its politics and its military madness and its horror of mutation. What had she had?

Screwy brain chemistry, probably. Miles knew all about that, too. Some sociopaths weren't made, they just _were_.

It took four takes for Miles to be satisfied with the result. Allegre, who wasn't at all happy about the deliberately provocative nature of the message, stood by the door the entire time, emanating displeasure. Elli, eyes sparking, pulled up a chair and watched, while Alexis and Miles's parents lined up against the far wall, looking on with interest. The content of the message itself was fairly simple, informing Cavilo that they had received her message and wished to know what exactly it was she wanted – and just why, exactly, they shouldn't crush her with all the might of the Barrayaran Empire.

"You're small time to us now," Miles said, staring into the camera and smiling a little, hopefully unnervingly. "So whatever trump card you think you've got that's worth your life . . . well, I'd think about it very carefully. Because as far as I can see, the path you're on right now not only doesn't lead to victory – it leads straight to the end of the line."

"Are you happy now that you've indulged your penchant for melodrama?" Gregor inquired as they stood by with the Count and Countess on the bridge, waiting for the techs to tight beam the message out.

"Yes," Miles said, rocking back on his heels in satisfaction. "Very. Of course," he added, scowling, "now we have to _wait_ again."

"Not very long, I would wager," Gregor said. "It should reach her within the next six hours."

"And I bet we have a reply from her not long after." Miles grinned, though somehow it felt more like gritting his teeth.

"Stop that, dear," his mother said mildly. "You look entirely unhinged."

The message successfully sent, there came then a stretch of free time. Miles, feeling quite energized and refreshed from recent events, exchanged a significant glance with Gregor. Shortly thereafter, the two of them managed to vanish from the bridge with a minimal amount of fuss.

"I can't remember the last time we did this," Miles said, turning to Gregor once the door to their cabin had sighed shut.

"Sergyar," Gregor replied, and stole a kiss while eagerly undoing the obscene and frustrating number of buttons down Miles's shirt. "I have to say," he added breathlessly, when they came up for air, "I'm a little disturbed by your reaction to all of this."

"I miss dealing with good old-fashioned megalomaniacs," Miles said, and pushed Gregor back onto the bed. "It gets my heart rate going."

"And other things, apparently," Gregor replied with a smile.

"Yes. Now stop talking before I have to gag you."

"Promises, promises."

Gregor fell asleep afterwards. Passed out, belike. Miles was a good deal calmer, but still much too keyed up to really sleep, so he dozed off and on, head on Gregor's chest, listening for the chime of their comconsole that would indicate a reply had arrived. He knew it was still much too early, but one never knew.

It had not yet chimed when they finally roused themselves about two hours later. Miles slid reluctantly out of bed to shower and dress, and then poked Gregor awake. While Gregor took his turn in the shower, Miles called Allegre to get an update, which was, naturally, that nothing had happened yet, as it had only been three hours. Miles didn't think he was imagining the little twitch that seemed to be developing in Allegre's left eyelid, and wondered if it was a general twitch or one linked directly to the appearance of Miles himself. Allegre promised once more to keep Miles suitably updated, and cut the com.

The six-hour mark slid by, then seven, eight, nine, and they entered a sleep cycle. Miles took a sleeptimer, mostly because lying awake would certainly not make the time go faster, and woke hoping for a reply. There was none, and four hours later, they had still heard nothing.

Another day and still, nothing. Miles tested his neurotransmitter levels at Gregor's insistence and, despite his very great reluctance to be caught hung-over by her answer, induced a seizure. He lost a sleep cycle and half a day to it, but midday saw him more or less upright and by 1700 he was pacing the length of their cabin.

"What is she playing at?" he demanded. "I thought that message would have her foaming at the mouth!"

"Perhaps she's gotten clever, rather than crazy," Gregor suggested. He reached up and took Miles's hand away from his mouth. Miles looked down; he'd been gnawing on his knuckle again without realizing it.

"In which case it's possible we've underestimated her," Miles said. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Damn."

"She'll tip her hand sometime. She has to." Gregor paused. "Unless, of course, it wasn't her. I think we have to entertain that notion."

"I've entertained it," Miles said. "At length. I still think we're missing something." He frowned fiercely. "Maybe . . . maybe we're assuming too much. Maybe there is no larger goal. Maybe this is all she wanted, to cause chaos for Barrayar and steal the Dendarii from us. Maybe that's adequate revenge for her."

"Perhaps. In which case, we should probably count ourselves lucky."

"I suppose." Miles cracked his knuckles one by one and then shook his head. "No, that can't be it. That doesn't feel right."

"What does?"

"Right now?" Miles got up and paced the short length of the cabin yet again. "Nothing at all. None of this is right."

Another day cycle slid by. The next night cycle Miles sat up reading, long after Gregor had fallen asleep. He'd finally nodded off over his handviewer when their comconsole chimed. He jerked upright, nearly smacked his handviewer into Gregor's face, and scrambled out of bed. Gregor stumbled after him, still half-asleep and bewildered. Miles smacked the panel to answer the call, and, after what seemed an eternity, Allegre's face appeared on the vidplate.

"Yes?" Miles said, while Gregor leaned over the back of the comconsole chair, seemingly more alert. "Is it Cavilo?"

"No, my lord, it isn't." Allegre paused, two worry lines forming between his eyes. "As you know, we have a number of ships accompanying us right now, for security. A few minutes ago we received word that one of the smaller ones has blown up, for lack of a better description."

Miles stared at Allegre for a moment, mouth dropping open slightly, and then craned his head up to look at Gregor, who looked back at him, frowning. Miles returned his gaze to the vidplate. "Blown up?" he repeated.

"Was it fired upon?" Gregor asked.

"No, Sire. As far as we can tell at this time, the explosion happened on board the ship."

"Were there any distress calls, radio signals – any sign at all that something was wrong before it happened?" Gregor asked.

"That's what we're trying to determine now, Sire. There could be something we're missing. With your permission, I'd like to put together a full briefing for about thirty minutes from now."

"Yes, thank you."

Allegre cut the com, and Miles stood up slowly. "Well," he said, watching Gregor go sit on the bed. He seemed shell-shocked, moving slowly and staring at nothing. "That's an interesting twist."

"Fifty men at least," Gregor said, very low. "That isn't an _interesting twist_, Miles. Fifty men is –"

"I know, Gregor," Miles said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – I didn't mean it. I was being . . ." He stopped. "I don't know."

"What could cause something like that?"

Miles shook his head, and went to sit beside him. "Shipboard fire, started by faulty wiring maybe. But very few things that aren't deliberate sabotage will actually blow a ship apart."

Gregor looked at him. "Maybe we got our answer after all."

Miles pressed his lips together. "Maybe we did." And if they had, he didn't really want to think about it. He'd insisted on being provocative. He'd wanted to bait her into reacting; he just hadn't thought she'd react like this. He should have known better – he didn't react moderately to provocation either.

"How though?" Gregor wondered out loud. "Isn't she three jump points away?"

"I don't know," Miles said with a sigh. "Maybe it wasn't her at all."

"Who then?" Gregor asked, raising an eyebrow. "Komarrans?"

Miles shook his head. He just didn't know.

Allegre's briefing failed to shed light on the matter. They had to wait a full day and a half, in fact, for ImpSec to collect and cull through the debris, before they found anything for sure. Miles and Gregor were having dinner with the Count and Countess when Allegre called at last, with news that they'd found confirmation of a bomb on board the ill-fated ship. All four of them quit the table at once, and hurried down the corridor to the conference room, where they found Allegre and three of ImpSec's top engineers examining a mess of twisted metal and wiring.

"This, right here," said one baby-faced engineer, who looked barely old enough to tie his own shoelaces. He pointed delicately to a jumble of wires. "Pure luck that any of it survived the explosion."

"It looks complicated," Gregor remarked, peering at it.

"Not really, Sire," another engineer said. "Most of those wires are the ship's own, they just swapped them around and added some plastic explosives. Not very elegant work, actually." This last said with a snobbish sniff.

"So there isn't anything to tell us who did it," Gregor said. "No – no serial numbers or – or something?"

"No, Sire, unfortunately not," Allegre sighed. "But we can rule out a fluke fire."

"There would have been a distress signal in that case," the Count pointed out. Allegre grimaced in agreement, and they all stood for a moment, staring at the mess on the conference table as though it would suddenly reveal an unexpected clue. It didn't, and after a time Gregor, Miles, and his parents returned to their dinner, rather quieter than before. Miles picked at his food, and couldn't help but glance out the small window of his parents' stateroom, catching a glimpse of the empty blackness, dotted here and there with an Imperial cruiser.

"What are you thinking?" his mother asked him.

"I'm thinking . . ." Miles dragged his gaze back. "If they could do it once, they can do it again."

*~*~*

 

The second call came two days later, once again in the middle of their ship's sleep cycle. Gregor found himself woken, abruptly but apologetically, and trundled out of bed with barely a pause to throw on yesterday's clothes. He was still carrying his shoes as the very taciturn guards prodded him and Miles down the corridor, toward the shuttlebay. Allegre was waiting for them there, his face so grim that Gregor hardly needed to ask what had happened.

He did anyway. "Another one?"

"Yes, Sire. Ten minutes ago."

Gregor swallowed, and glanced sideways at Miles, who hadn't so much as changed expression at this news. He didn't return Gregor's look.

Gregor nodded toward a shuttle that was being prepared to disengage at that very moment. "We're going downside, I assume."

"If it pleases you, Sire," Allegre said, though he looked as though he didn't much care whether it pleased Gregor or not. "I think we can guard you there more effectively against whatever or whoever managed to infiltrate our ships. You'll both be equipped with panic buttons and locators, linked directly to ImpSec Solstice HQ as well as this ship. The Count and Countess will receive them as well."

"They'll be joining us then?" Gregor asked.

"Not immediately, Sire. They, and your luggage, will follow shortly."

Gregor nodded, and after a moment Miles did as well, crossing his arms over his chest.

They sat silently side by side in the passenger chairs, not speaking as the shuttle disengaged smoothly from the ship. Miles craned his head around to peer out the window, and Gregor found himself doing the same. He imagined the ship blowing to pieces, right there in front of him, or maybe there would be several explosions, all around the ship, until finally it went all at once. It would be bright, silent, and strangely beautiful in its devastation.

The image lingered in Gregor's mind for several seconds; then he blinked and it was gone. The ship was still there, silver and sleek and whole.

It was very early when they landed at Solstice and were conveyed by groundcar to the Counselor's Residence. They were greeted by the Counselor and his wife, who looked rather more put together than Gregor thought entirely reasonable for that hour of the morning, then offered breakfast and shown to their rooms. The Count and Countess would arrive in three hours, they were informed, and Allegre with them. Relieved that there was nothing immediate for either of them to do, Gregor had his Armsmen close the door politely but firmly in the face of the Counselor's overly solicitous staff.

Miles was standing at the window when Gregor entered the bedroom, staring out at the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. Komarr had particularly brilliant sunrises because of all the various gases that made up its atmosphere, and then of course there was mirror-rise – far more novel for native Barrayarans, if not quite as beautiful. Gregor crossed to stand beside him, hands clasped behind his back.

"I can't remember anymore how I used to live for months and months on a spaceship," Miles remarked. "Feels good to be downside again, even in the circumstances."

Gregor's hands clenched briefly. "I suppose," he said, turning away to sit on the bed and take off his boots. He felt anger turning his stomach, a helpless rage desperately seeking some target. Over a hundred men now, Imperial soldiers who should never have been in danger to begin with, stationed as they were well within the bounds of the Empire. But someone had found a way in, a way onto the ships and into their workings and now they were gone, in two blinks of the eye. And they had no idea how to stop it happening again.

Miles turned away from the window, blocking the sun briefly with his body. "You're pissed at me," he said flatly.

Gregor glanced away. "Yes," he said, only fully realizing as he said it that it was true. He let his boot fall to the floor with a dull thump.

Miles's chin jerked up in an old tic that only appeared now when he was on the defensive. "Why? Because of the ships?"

"Yes," Gregor said, and then suddenly realized that was wrong. "No," he added, before Miles could speak. "No – something like this must have been planned already. If it even was her, which we have no proof at all that it was."

Miles shook his head. "Not necessarily. It could have conceivably been a response, though how she did it . . ." He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, undoing and redoing the button several times. "If not that, then what?" He seemed strangely eager to hear whatever it was, Gregor thought, and wondered if Miles would have been relieved if Gregor had blamed him for the ships. He thought Miles himself did, on some level, and it made Gregor hesitate a little.

But the anger was still there, and Gregor struggled to articulate just what, exactly, he was mad about. The ships, yes, of course, but he'd meant what he'd said. He didn't think their message to Cavilo had been responsible for it. All the same, he couldn't help but wonder if a hundred Imperial soldiers would be alive right now if he'd reigned in Miles's impulses, and at that thought he felt a spike of anger so sharp that he said, with a good deal more force than he'd intended, "Are you ever going to stop thinking like a mercenary?"

Miles's head jerked up and he looked stung. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You handled Cavilo – you _insisted_ on handling her like Naismith would have. And you enjoyed it."

Miles crossed his arms over his chest. "Your point?"

"My point, Miles, is that such methods may be valid when leading a small mercenary space fleet, but you're not anymore –"

"As you keep feeling the need to remind me," Miles muttered, mutinously.

"Perhaps there's a reason for that," Gregor countered.

"Damned if I can think of what it could be," Miles snapped. "I have not put one toe out of line – yes, there was the message, but need I remind you that _you_ signed off on it as well, and Allegre –"

"Allegre did it under duress," Gregor corrected. "And against all better judgment. I did it because – because I had no idea what the consequences would be."

"So you do think the ships were attacked because of the message!" Miles said, almost triumphantly.

"Maybe they were and maybe they weren't, but provoking her was stupid. You have to admit that."

"No. I don't." Miles turned on his heel, paced away, and then turned back, crossing his arms over his chest again. "It was a risk, yes, but I've always taken risks – I took risks as Naismith and I take them now, as an Auditor. And if you don't like it, well, you should have married someone else. I'm sure you could have found someone easily enough. A nice Vor maiden, very virginal. You certainly wouldn't be having this fight with her, now, would you?"

"Don't change the subject," Gregor snapped, uneasily aware that Miles was right. "My point is you haven't changed. Four years and dozens of promises later, and you still can't seem to grasp that you're not Naismith anymore."

Miles narrowed his eyes at him. "No. That's not the point. That's not it at all. Your point is that you're more afraid now than you've ever been that I'll bolt. After years as your lover, you're afraid that now, when I see what it's really like, when I have a taste of what it will be for the rest of my life, never at the center of the action, always waiting and reacting – you're afraid I'll run." He stared at Gregor, his grey eyes strangely devoid of emotion.

Gregor started to say it wasn't true except . . . something slid into place in his head. The nameless fear he'd been dodging since the news about the Dendarii came in, a fear he hadn't even realized was there, crouched about his neck, making him lie to Miles, making him act in ways he knew weren't right. Gregor dropped his eyes, unable to hold Miles's cold gaze. "Yes."

"Well," Miles said, and turned away. "After four years, Gregor, I have to say, that is profoundly insulting."

"Miles," Gregor said desperately, "can you really tell me I'm wrong?"

"Yes," Miles hissed fiercely, raising his head. "A month ago I swore to you in front of three planets that I'd do no such thing, ever, and for you to think I might now of all times –" He broke off, plainly too enraged to speak, and then managed, "Such a slur on my honor I have _never_ – and from _you_ –"

"It's not like that," Gregor said, his breath catching in his throat. "I almost lost you, barely more than six months ago, and now this – Miles, _I_ wouldn't choose this life. On my best days I wouldn't choose it, and on my worst . . ." He gritted his teeth against words he was quite sure would have no effect whatsoever – none to the good, in any case.

Miles's eyes did not soften. "But I do choose it," he said. "Every day." He went to the door and pushed the panel to slide it open, pausing minutely before leaving. "I only wish you wouldn't doubt me."

The door slid shut behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

There were no explosions, literal or personal, in the next few days. Miles was at first relieved and then increasingly frustrated. He knew the current deadlock could not last forever, but the only new information that a somewhat desperate Allegre had to offer was that there was no sign of anyone having docked with the ships prior to the explosions. Nor had either ship reported picking up any random debris, or to Miles's disappointment, a bod-pod. That would have made things much simpler all around, he thought – but his life had never been simple, and it looked to be getting more complicated by the day.

He and Gregor had reached a fragile state of truce, but negotiations had fallen apart due to lack of time and inclination. By the morning of their third day downside, Miles found himself fighting feelings of general dissatisfaction and an uncharacteristic bout of ennui.

He woke early when Jenouille entered their suite to wake Gregor. Miles lay still, pretending to sleep, and didn't move even when Gregor paused for a moment leaning over him. Once the door to their suite sighed shut Miles opened his eyes. He rolled onto his stomach and then his back, trying to fall asleep, and finally gave it up for lost. Gregor would be at breakfast by now; he could shoo away the Armsmen and take his time with dressing, and by the time he was done Gregor would be off, locked up in whatever meetings he had planned for that morning. Any other day Miles might hurry so he could sit in on them, but not this morning. At the moment avoidance seemed like unusually good tactics, if not good strategy.

His plan worked. Gregor was nowhere to be seen when Miles finally entered the smaller of the Counselor's two dining rooms. In fact there was only the Countess, lingering over her tea and a book disc at the table. She looked up as Miles sat down, and a servant offered him his usual cup of strong black coffee.

"Good morning," she said, and set aside her handviewer.

"'Morning," he said, carefully avoiding her gaze as he spooned groats into his bowl. She'd been observing him and Gregor with an unnervingly assessing eye ever since she and the Count had arrived downside. "Where's Da?"

"Still sleeping. He's turning into an insomniac in his old age."

"Why didn't he take a sleeptimer?" Miles asked, raising his eyebrows.

His mother sighed. "I'm sure I have no idea. He doesn't like them, says they make him groggy, which is simply ridiculous. His doctor prescribed something else, but he left it on the ship."

"Ah," Miles said, and busied himself with his groats.

She watched him until he felt the tips of his ears redden. Finally she said, "Gregor mentioned he would be in a meeting all morning with Counselor Vorhallis and Allegre."

"Ah," was all Miles could think of to say, his mouth conveniently full of food.

She continued to eye him thoughtfully as he kept his head down, resolutely spooning groats so she couldn't try to engage him in what he was certain would be an excruciating conversation. After a moment she made a noise of what might have been annoyance, amusement, or any number of other things, and went back to her book disc. He glanced up, faintly incredulous, but she remained reading placidly, even after he started slurping loudly at his coffee cup to get her attention.

When he couldn't take it anymore, he said, "Well?"

She looked up, seemingly surprised. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, Mother. You can't expect me to believe that you're going to sit there _reading_ when you know damn well that Gregor and I had a – a disagreement."

She pursed her lips, the faint lines around her eyes crinkling a bit as though she were trying not to smile. "Now, Miles, I wouldn't dream of interfering where I wasn't asked."

"Yes, you would."

"No, I wouldn't. You and Gregor are certainly old enough now to take care of your, ahem, disagreements on your own." Under her breath she added, "Not that you'd know it by your recent behavior."

"And when did you suddenly decide to adhere to this philosophy?" Miles asked, sitting up indignantly. "After thirty-five years of looking inside my head and telling me what I'm thinking, you can't just turn around and say, 'No, son, sorry, this time you're on your own.'"

"I would never," the Countess repeated calmly, "simply never, dream of interfering where I was not asked."

He glared. "Now you're being coy? In my hour of torment?"

"You do suffer so," she replied dryly.

"Damn straight," Miles muttered and stood. "Fine then. Maybe I don't want your advice after all."

"It's entirely up to you," she said, appearing annoyingly unruffled.

Having huffed out of the dining room, Miles found himself with nothing to do. Avoiding Gregor meant perforce avoiding the meetings he was in, and after several turns around the house in which he encountered a number of polite but extremely bland ImpSec agents, he wanted little more than to escape. He was absolutely forbidden from leaving the security of the palace to venture out into the city; this left their suite, which had already grown too familiar, or the extensive palace gardens, which he'd only glimpsed briefly. His mind made up, he stopped a passing maidservant for directions, and made his way out through one of the cleverly disguised side entrances.

Outside the day was, as always in Solstice, perfectly pleasant, the air completely still. Miles found it unnerving, but less so after having spent so much of the last few weeks pent up on a ship. He chose a path at random, hardly looking at the garden itself. He'd barely gone twenty paces, not even far enough to leave the sprawling shadow of the residence itself, when he stopped dead.

"It's a lovely day to sit outside with a book, isn't it?" the Countess remarked.

"You, m'lady, are not playing by the rules," Miles said, seating himself beside her on the bench against his better judgment. "And I want to know how you knew I was coming out here when I didn't know myself."

For a moment she looked like she was going to play innocent again, but then she gave up and answered, tucking her handviewer away, "It was nearly the only place you could go, seeing as Allegre has forbidden any of us from leaving and I didn't think you were depressed enough to sit in your rooms all day. And somehow I didn't think you wanted to risk running into Gregor."

Miles made a _hmph!_ of reluctant agreement and said, "I'm not depressed at all. I'm annoyed. And frustrated. And pissed."

"I see. And Gregor?"

Miles shrugged, even though he knew it made him look like a belligerent teenager. "I don't know."

"Well, I certainly don't believe that," she said, and stood, dusting her skirts off briefly. "Let's take a walk. I'd like some sun after all that time on the ship."

She didn't speak as they walked, and after a few minutes Miles realized that she was waiting for him to stop being an ass, something she'd probably had plenty of practice at in the last thirty-five years. "Gregor is being impossible," he said at last, grudgingly.

"How so?" she replied with mild curiosity.

"It's ridiculous," Miles said, feeling the anger come boiling up all over again. "He thinks I still think like a mercenary."

"I see," she paused, and paused before adding, with a hint of amusement, "Don't you?"

"Well . . . yes," Miles admitted. "And I likely always will. It's how I learned to command, after all, and I was damn good at it." He brooded, glaring down at his boots crunching along the gravel pathway. "But he thinks I'm going to run off again, back to the Dendarii. As if I could, as if I _would_ now, after everything. I have never been so offended –"

"You think it is an unreasonable fear then," the Countess interrupted, before Miles's rant could really gain momentum.

"Of course I do!" he snapped. "I would _never_ – and he should know that by now, after all this time. After everything. We made our promises a long time ago. I gave my word. I don't understand what he's –" He stopped.

"What he's what?" she prompted.

"Afraid of," Miles finished, rather quelled. "I don't understand what he's afraid of."

She slid a glance at him, sideways. "You don't?" He opened his mouth and she added swiftly, "Don't say it's that you'll run back to the Dendarii. You're right, that would be very silly and Gregor isn't one to be afraid of silly things."

Miles was quiet for a long while. "Losing me," he said at last. "Of course."

"He's not the only one," the Countess pointed out gently. "Perhaps that's why it's easier for me to see it."

"Still," Miles grumbled, "for him to even consider that I might do something like that –"

"You are impulsive. And you don't react well to feeling trapped. Not that I'm defending him," she added, somewhat incongruously, at his glare. "But I think the inside of Gregor's head has been a rather frightening place for the last, oh, seven, seven and a half months or so."

"We talked before the wedding. I thought things were better."

The Countess pursed her lips. "Talking isn't going to solve this. Only time, and the gradual certainty that you aren't leaving him in any sense."

"You're saying I have to be patient, aren't you?" Miles sighed. "Even when he does something like this?"

His mother smiled wryly. "Marriage involves a great deal of patience. I, for instance, was woken up no less than six times last night because my husband of thirty-six years refused to take a sleeptimer."

"Hmph," Miles said. "I see your point."

She hit him with a bright, Betan smile. "Excellent. Now, will the two of you –"

She stopped suddenly, which was just as well because Miles had ceased listening. Inceri, Pym, and a uniformed ImpSec agent had just rounded the hedge in front of them at a fast clip, not quite running but nearly so. Inceri had one hand at the small microphone in his ear, and his mouth was curved down in a grim line.

"My lord, Countess." He bowed briefly. "Please come with me."

"What's going on?" Miles asked in a low voice, as Inceri hurried them along, one hand on Miles's shoulder and the other at the Countess's elbow. The ImpSec agent went ahead, scouting around each turn of the hedge. Pym brought up the rear of their tight, tense little group, one eye to the back to make sure no one followed. "What's happened?"

"We have a situation," Inceri replied tersely. "I'll tell you in the car."

"What car?" Miles snapped. "Where's Gregor? I'm not going anywhere without –"

"Pym," Cordelia said urgently, turning to catch the Armsman's sleeve, "Aral is –"

"I'm sorry, milady," Pym replied, and took hold of her arm. "We don't have time –"

"Quiet!" Inceri snapped in a low tone, and Pym fell silent. Miles could just make out footsteps on the path, behind them but closing quickly. He glanced over his shoulder, but Inceri pushed him forward, faster, until they were nearly running, none of them daring to make a sound. With one hand Miles found his grandfather's dagger and grasped the hilt; with the other, he went for his stunner, more effective, if not as comforting. He dared a glance over his shoulder, but he couldn't see who, if anyone, was in pursuit. Not that it mattered, because when the attack came it was from the front.

The ImpSec agent, one of the dozens Miles had seen patrolling the palace that morning, turned suddenly, causing Inceri to stumble. With one hand he reached out, smashing the butt of his stunner into Inceri's temple, and with the other –

Miles caught only a glittering hint of the vibraknife as it came flashing down towards him, aimed with deadly accuracy at his neck. He dodged, knowing it was too late to avoid being hit, hoping only to avoid a mortal blow, and glimpsed overhead a blur of blue as his mother threw herself at his assailant over Miles's head. There was a spurt of dark blood – Miles could taste it where it splattered his face – and a terrible moment when he thought it was the Countess's. But then the assailant's body fell, heavy and horrible across Miles's chest, and the Countess was there with Pym, shoving him off so that Miles could stand, just as their pursuers, every one of them clad in an ImpSec uniform with staring Horus eyes, rounded the hedge.

They had to leave Inceri lying in the gravel path and run flat out, Pym covering them with stunner fire until they reached the outer wall, where they lost their pursuers temporarily. Pym wasted no time in boosting first Miles and then the Countess up and onto the wall, before scrambling up himself. Miles resisted the urge to glance back before he lowered himself to hang by his fingertips on the other side and finally let himself drop. The Countess landed beside him half a second later, with Pym just behind her.

The car was waiting for them, as Inceri promised, and Miles breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw Alexis behind the wheel. But it wasn't until he saw that they were alone that he realized he'd been expecting Gregor and his father to be waiting for them.

"Pym," Miles's mother said evenly. "Where are they?"

The Armsman was silent for a beat, and then replied, "I don't know, milady. I'm sorry."

Miles's hand went immediately to the comlink he wore on his wrist, even as Pym shoved him inside the vehicle. Alexis pulled away from the curb, and Miles stabbed futilely at the comlink. "Gregor," he said. "Come on, Gregor, answer me!" The others stared at him, his mother's lips parted in a stunted half-hope, Pym twisted around in his seat to watch.

But there was nothing. Not even static, high quality as they were. His hands clenched in frustration. "We have to go back," he said, knowing it was futile. "We can't just leave them there –"

Alexis shook his head. "M'lord, I have my instructions from Inceri. We can't go back. We don't know if – we can't go back." He glanced into the rearview mirror, meeting Miles's eyes. "And they might meet us yet," he added.

"Maybe." _But not likely_. Miles realized suddenly that his palms were bloody and scraped, and that the blood on his face was beginning to dry. He wiped his hands on his pants, and found a handkerchief and wiped his face with it until it was all over blood and he couldn't smell-taste a metallic tang every time he breathed. "What happened?" he asked when he was done.

Pym took a deep breath. "It seems, my lord, that the Counselor's residence has been taken."

"I got that idea, yes, thank you," Miles snapped. "I meant how and by whom!"

"I don't know, my lord," Pym said, quiet in the face of Miles's anger. "Inceri didn't know either."

Inceri, who was probably dead by now. _Along with Gregor, Da, Allegre, Counselor Vorhallis . . . _Stop.

He could not bring himself to look at his mother; he knew he'd only see his own fears and thoughts echoed back at him. Instead he stared out the window as they wound their way through the streets of Solstice, presumably toward the shuttleport. He'd expected, well, he wasn't sure what he'd expected. Violence. Explosions. To be shot at. But the streets were perfectly calm, full of individuals and small groups of people going about their lives. It was surreal, to say the least, and for some reason the very opposite of comforting.

Miles shook himself, trying to shake off the gut-eating fear at the same time. It was useless, utterly and completely useless, and he did not have the time to indulge it. Instead he forced himself to try and put order and logic to things he felt only instinctively – for instance, that it made no sense for it to have been Komarrans. They would have broadcast it all over the planet by now, and people would not be going normally about their business. And he refused to believe that any of the terrorist groups had managed to organize themselves well enough to infiltrate the palace. Therefore, it was probably the same person who'd blown up the ships in orbit – Cavilo, or someone else. If it was Cavilo, Miles thought, then Gregor was definitely alive. She would want to toy with him, and unpleasant as that might be, it would keep him alive even if she had no other use for him, but he was sure she did. If it were someone else, probably he was still alive. As an assassination the operation was clunky, inefficient, inelegant; as a hostage situation, it was much more effective and far more dangerous.

"Where are we going?" the Countess demanded suddenly, and Miles blinked himself away from his ruminations to realize that they were leaving the dome and traveling across the great desert wasteland of un-terraformed Komarr.

"We can't use the public shuttleport, m'lord," Alexis replied. "I've just received instructions from Commodore Galeni."

"Are you sure the channel was secure?" Miles asked, alarmed. And then, with even more urgency, "Are you sure it was Galeni?"

Alexis hesitated. "As sure as I can be, m'lord."

"Great," Miles muttered.

They traveled for another hour, farther and farther across the barren, featureless landscape. It offered no cover whatsoever, which made the hair on the back of Miles's neck stand up. He kept twisting around to look out the back window, but no one seemed to be following them, and it would have been just as impossible for them to stay hidden. He listened for the whine of a lightflyer, but that also did not come. No one spoke.

At last it appeared in front them, just as they crested a small rise: an Imperial shuttle. Miles breathed out slowly, and then strained to see if Gregor or the Count might be one of the mask-clad men running towards them. It was impossible to tell, of course, and even if they were present Galeni would have never let them stand around outside. He put his own oxygen mask on with shaking hands and climbed out ahead of his mother, ready to push her back inside if it became clear that the situation was not what it seemed.

But Galeni himself was there the moment Miles stepped out of the car, hurrying him and the Countess into the shuttle with efficacy, leaving Miles hardly enough time to ask, "Duv, are Gregor and –"

He broke off as Duv started shaking his head. "No, m'lord – Miles," he said, and took a deep breath through his oxygen mask. "I'm sorry. We don't know much," he added, when Miles started to ask. "But they're not here. Neither is Allegre or the Counselor."

Miles glanced behind him toward the Countess and saw that she'd heard. "Is there any news at all?" he asked as Galeni pushed them both into their seats.

Galeni nodded. "The Counselor's wife was shopping in Solstice when it happened, and the children were both in school. We were able to evacuate them, at least."

"Oh," Miles said. And then, feeling as though something more were required of him, "Good."

"If you'll excuse me, my lord – we'll be taking off in less than a minute." With that, Galeni disappeared up front to speak to the pilot.

The Countess had her hands folded her in lap, fingers grasping each other, and Miles hesitated only briefly before reaching out and taking her hand. "They're fine," he said. "Cavilo or whoever it is needs them for something, and they're safe until then at least."

"Gregor is," the Countess replied, very quietly and with utter calm. "But what could she possibly need Aral for?"

Miles swallowed, his fingers tightening on hers. "Yeah. I know."

Around them the engines were firing up. In a few seconds they would be aloft, and Miles didn't care what arguments Galeni or anyone had for him, it felt like running away and leaving Gregor and his father to an uncertain fate at the hands of either a mad woman or an unknown variable in what had become a very unpredictable equation. Miles would be kept safe throughout, of course. It was prudent. It was reasonable. It only _felt_ like deserting in the heat of battle.

They almost made it without a hitch. They were aloft and rapidly gaining altitude when Miles felt something cold pressing against the base of his neck, and then a voice, strangely calm, saying, "Take the shuttle to the Counselor's Palace."

There was a moment of frozen panic, when everyone turned to look. Miles himself stayed very, very still, wondering which of the mask-clad agents it had been. _How could he possibly think this will work?_ Miles thought wildly. There were at least fifteen other people on board the shuttle, and just because he had a nerve disruptor pressed to the base of Miles's skull –

There was a sudden, low buzzing sound, an almost silent gasp just over Miles's head, and then a bright blue nimbus as the nerve disruptor fired. The shot went high and wide, deflected off the top of the shuttle, and fizzled itself out in an emergency pressure suit – about five inches from Duv Galeni's head. The assailant hit the floor half a second later, dead or unconscious, Miles didn't know. He turned to look and saw the man lying sprawled behind him. In repose he seemed very young; he was dark-haired and handsome in an ordinary sort of way, and Miles thought he could have been the brother of the one who'd attacked them in the garden. Maybe he was.

After one very spooked glance at the now defunct pressure suit, Duv instructed the pilot to continue their planned course. He toed the assailant carefully over and crouched down beside him.

"Is he alive?" Miles asked.

"Yes. Stunned." Galeni glanced up and nodded towards Alexis, who stared at the assailant with his eyes narrowed. "Your secretary is a good shot."

"The ones at the palace were ImpSec too," Miles said.

"We heard," Galeni said grimly.

"Or . . . " Alexis hesitated, glancing first at Miles, and then at Galeni. "Or they looked like they were."

Miles raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

Alexis knelt down beside Galeni. "May I?" he asked. Galeni gestured him forward. Alexis leaned forward and tore open the man's white uniform shirt to about his sternum. His chest was completely bare, save for a small, strangely familiar stylized B branded just below his collarbone. "Yes," Alexis hissed in satisfaction. "I thought so."

"What is it?" Galeni asked.

Alexis looked at Miles. "Did the ones you saw at the palace look strangely similar?"

Miles blinked, and shot a glance toward his mother, who raised her eyebrows in return. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Because I've seen them before."

Miles stared at Alexis as everything suddenly fell into place. The missing means, motive, and end. Of course Cavilo was behind everything – but she wasn't alone. She'd found herself a backer – or perhaps the backer had found her. Whichever the case, it must have been a match made in hell.

"Miles?" the Countess prompted. "What is that?"

"That," Miles said, with a sharp inhalation, "is the mark of House Bharaputra."


	6. Chapter 6

Gregor awoke with a groan. He blinked once, and then squeezed his eyes shut again against what he vaguely realized must be as stunner migraine. He'd managed forty years without being stunned, and it was turning out not to be nearly as painless as everyone claimed.

"If you're going to vomit, do it in this," Aral said gruffly, and Gregor opened his eyes just wide enough see the Count setting a bowl down next to him. "Better yet, get yourself into the bathroom until it wears off."

"'M fine," Gregor managed, struggling to sit up. Then the world tilted and spun, and he found himself heaving his meager breakfast up into the bowl after all. He fell back, embarrassed, confused, and more frightened than he cared to admit, as the full weight of their situation came crashing down on him. Turning his head, he realized that he lay beside the bed in his and Miles's suite. After a few seconds consideration, he managed to successfully pull himself up and onto the bed, where he covered his eyes with his hand and waited for the washing up noises in the bathroom to cease.

"I found some painkillers," Aral offered when he returned. Gregor sat up and accepted them gratefully, then swallowed them down with water. The Count lowered himself into an armchair across from him.

"How come they didn't stun you?" Gregor asked, feeling a bit resentful.

"I was asleep when they came for me," Aral sighed. "Very undignified, being taken by surprise while still in your pajamas. What do you remember?"

"I was in a meeting," Gregor said, squinting a little less now as the light became more bearable. "And then these men – ImpSec – they came in and stunned us, I suppose. It was very fast. Where's Miles? And Cordelia?" His fingers stole to his wrist, where the slim black comlink should have been, but it was gone. He hissed, fingers clenching almost convulsively. Fallen off in the melee or pilfered by someone? Further exploration revealed the ImpSec-issue panic button, which did not, unfortunately, contain a direct comlink.

Aral shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't seen them. But they could just be keeping us separated."

"Do you know who it is?"

He nodded, frowning. "Your old friend, Cavilo." He made a noise halfway between disgust and amusement. "She does have an interesting style, doesn't she?"

Gregor grimaced in agreement. "I suppose she'll be paying me a visit sometime soon."

"Probably. I'm sure it will be . . ."

"Traumatizing?"

"I was going to say educational."

Gregor had to laugh, even though it made his head hurt. "She is that." He rubbed futilely at his temples. "Do you know anything else?"

The Count shook his head. "I've been locked up in here for a couple hours now, waiting for you to come around. I don't know what's happening outside or how she managed any of this."

"The men were ImpSec. Could she really have orchestrated a coup? She's not even Barrayaran. _And_ she's a woman – that's something of a handicap when dealing with the military."

"I don't know. There's something damn strange about all of this."

Gregor had to agree, but his head still hurt too badly to try and puzzle any of it out. He dozed in and out while they waited, waking suddenly at small noises, not wanting to be caught asleep when she came. He'd had dreams about her for months after their first encounter, dreams that were disturbing and violent in their eroticism. They had scared him badly, and for a time he had been almost grateful that his life made an intimate relationship of any kind an impossibility. It wasn't until the dreams had lessened in frequency and intensity that he had even been able to comprehend the depth of his feelings for Miles. Even then he had been disturbed, wondering what was true feeling and what was residual scarring from his encounter with Cavilo; the two of them were so very alike, after all.

He was not looking forward to seeing her again. Especially not as her captive. He'd thought that if they ever met face to face, he would have Miles at his side and the military of three planets at his back. But wherever Miles was, he wasn't here. As for the military, well, those men had worn Horus-eyes pinned to their shoulders.

"Gregor," Aral said suddenly, and Gregor had just enough time to sit up and scrub briefly at his face with one hand before the door sighed open.

Miles had predicted with great relish that her looks must be starting to go, but that was sadly not the case. Her face was nearly the same, save for a few very fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Her body was impossible to determine, since she wore loose Komarran garb that gave little clue of what might lie beneath. Gregor hoped fervently that he might escape without knowing anything more. Her hair, which twenty years ago she had worn in a cropped blond cap, was now shoulder length and auburn, held sensibly back at the nape of her neck.

Her eyes were the same. Still blue and beautiful. Still completely, utterly mad.

"Greg, darling!" she said, smiling broadly as two large and oddly similar-looking guards followed her in. She nodded towards the Count and the two of them hefted him up by his arms. "Oh, don't look so alarmed," she told Aral. "I won't hurt you, old man. I just want the chance to talk to dear Greg in private." He glared at her and she gave him a smiling finger wave as they frog-marched him out the door.

"Well!" she said, turning on her booted heel once the door had sighed shut. She smiled at him, pouting a bit in faux-sympathy. "I hope you don't mind my being frank, but you're looking a bit peaked. I am sorry they stunned you. I told them not to, but . . ." She shrugged, and smiled sweetly. "You know how these things go sometimes."

"Palace coups almost never run according to plan," Gregor agreed.

"Is that what you think this is? Oh, Greg, how little faith you have in me."

"I can't imagine why."

She sighed deeply, and sat on the bed – leaned rather, almost sprawled. She was perhaps a little more curvaceous than she had been as a young woman, if indeed she had ever been young. If he were at all interested in that sort of thing, Gregor supposed he would have found it attractive, though probably not under the circumstances.

"No, Greg, no," she said, shaking her head. "I just wanted the chance for us to have a little chat, as old friends do from time to time. I never got the chance to congratulate you personally on your marriage. I was so hoping your husband could be here as well, but sadly . . ." She sighed. "That hasn't worked out."

Gregor couldn't help it. "Where is he?"

"Gone," she said, and smiled in a way that chilled Gregor straight to the bone. "He was a great nuisance. So was that General Allegre of yours."

"Well, you can't very well expect otherwise," Gregor managed. _Gone? Gone as in . . . escaped? Or gone as in . . . ?_ His mind shied away from it. _She would tell you. She'd want to gloat_. Or keep him hoping . . .

"No," she sighed. "Still, it is so very tedious. You, on the other hand, you never bore me, Greg. And your father-in-law has been thoroughly charming!" She hit him again with her razor-edged smile. He wondered if her canines were naturally extra pointy, or if she filed them herself for the effect. "I'm very glad that we're going to have this time together to catch up. It's been such a long time." She slid her hand up the inside of his calf, causing every hair on the back of his neck to stand up.

"Cavilo," he said evenly, "I don't know what you're playing at, but I will not sleep with you. So unless you're planning to have your guards stand in here with their nerve disruptors pointed at my head while you sexually assault me, I would simply forget about it."

Her smile deepened, and her hand, rather than withdrawing as he'd hoped, remained on his leg, stroking lightly. "I don't think you appreciate your situation here, Greg. Darling. I have taken the palace. Anyone loyal to you is locked up, far away, or dead." _And which category, Miles, do you fall into?_ Gregor wondered bleakly. "You will be treated well because you are useful. Your father-in-law on the other hand . . ." She sighed. "Well, I understand that he was a great and important man on Barrayar in his time, but right now, he has no use to me. He is also alive and well because _you_ are useful, and I have the sneaking suspicion that his well-being might be a better bargaining chip with you than your own, do-gooder that you are." In one smooth motion she pushed him down and swung a leg over him; in seconds she was sitting astride his hips, legs locked firmly on either side of him and a nerve disrupter pointed squarely between his eyes. He was too shocked to do anything but stare as she leaned over him, her face mere inches away from her own. She smelled overwhelmingly of something harsh and chemically floral that made his eyes water. "You destroyed my life. You and that creeping unnatural _husband_ of yours. I spent the last fifteen years on the run from the Cetagandans, and it's only because you are _useful_ that I am showing you and yours more mercy than I would have been shown, had I been caught. I strongly suggest that you take care not to lose your utility."

She stared down at him unblinkingly, and Gregor found himself quite unable to respond, frozen as he was by the feeling of her thighs clamped down on either side of him and the nerve disruptor between his eyes. At least the nerve disrupter would be quick.

To his vast relief she sat back at last, and swung herself off the bed, apparently satisfied at having won. "Not so cocky without the smart-mouthed dwarf, are you? Who's small time now?"

So she had received the message then. Whether it had driven her over the edge or this plan had already been in place was impossible to know. What he did need to know, Gregor thought, grasping at coherency, was how much had been _her_. "You would need an army –" he managed, sitting up to face her.

"I have an army," she snapped.

"What, the Dendarii?" Gregor said, with a forced, mocking half-laugh. He wondered suddenly where exactly Miles was, if he was alive and not here, which seemed suddenly much more likely. Inceri would have gotten him out of the palace and up to the ship – but would Miles have stayed? Or would he have gotten impatient when ImpSec didn't move fast enough or handle things exactly the way he wanted them to and slipped off to stage his own rescue mission? Gregor wouldn't put it past him, and he couldn't say his own feelings about the idea were uncomplicated. He'd had about all he could take for one lifetime of being a hostage, but all the same . . .

_The rules don't change just because I'm not there. Don't do that to us, Miles._

Cavilo's giggle brought Gregor rudely back to his present situation. "No, not your stupid little mercenary outfit," she said. "They had their uses – their ships, for one, and entertainment value for another – but really, talk about small time. No, darling, think big. I took this palace without batting an eye. I took your wormhole with even less. One soldier. That was it. That was all I needed."

There was a sudden ringing in Gregor's ears. It had been her – and she was not shy about admitting it. Maybe hubris would be her downfall, but he couldn't help thinking that it was a bad sign. She wouldn't be so self-confident if she didn't really have an army hidden in her back pocket.

"What do you want?" he asked in a low voice.

"Want, Greg, my love?" She traced the cold bell muzzle of the nerve disrupter up his throat and along his jaw in chilling imitation of a caress. "I want fifteen years of my life back. I want to have blown your head off when I had the chance and spaced that little runt you had the dreadful judgment to fall in love with. I want the two of you to die miserable and powerless and alone." She stepped back suddenly and glanced down as she holstered her nerve disrupter. When she looked back up her calm mask had settled again, and she smiled, sweet, self-satisfied, and utterly mad, all at once. "But I'm reasonable. I realize that sometimes in life, we can't always get what we want. So instead, I'm willing to Deal." She turned on her very high heel and stalked out.

Gregor stared after her for a long time, just trying to catch his breath. When at last he felt like he could speak, he thought there was really only one thing left to say.

"Oh. Hell."

*~*~*

 

There were a lot of ImpSec agents on the ship. Miles had known that, of course, had marked their increased presence with annoyance both before and after the wedding, but he'd never appreciated before just how many of them there were. Most of them armed. All of them deadly. One passed him, giving him a respectful nod, and Miles had to suppress his twitch. The agent hadn't given any sign of wanting to slice open his jugular or fry his neurons to a crisp, but then again, neither had the others until they very nearly had.

"Are you all right?" Alexis asked, holding the door to the smaller of the ship's two conference rooms open for Miles.

"Not really," Miles said, casting one last spooked glance over his shoulder. But the agent had rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Miles seated himself between his mother and Quinn, who were already there, and nodded to Galeni to begin.

"Well, Captain," Galeni said to Alexis, "why don't you start with what you know and how you know it."

"Yes, sir." Alexis straightened and took a deep breath. "I worked in one of Bharaputra's labs, which is how I eventually found out about the antidote. It wasn't easy, since the Baron is very careful to keep all his operations completely compartmentalized. No one but him has the codes and keys to everything, and no one working in Department A has contact with people in Department B. Rumors leak out from time to time, but that is discouraged, to say the least. Violently so, if necessary. I would never have known about the, the – I don't know exactly what to call them."

"Neither do we, until we have the report back from the ship's surgeon," Galeni said. "Go on."

"Anyway, I would never have known, except retrieving your antidote, m'lord," he glanced towards Miles, "was a messy operation. On the way out we led Bharaputra's men on a chase through most of the building, including half the labs, and it was while looking for a temporary bolt hole that I saw them. They were all laid out on slabs, covered with sheets, which is actually how I ended up hiding – I lay down on one of the unoccupied slabs and covered myself up. When they'd passed I chanced a look – "

"And found the man who attacked me?" Miles asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Or someone very much like him. They were all alike, at least the few I saw before Colonel Farati and the others caught up with me. Blond or brown hair, pale skin, averagely handsome features. I couldn't tell you about eye color. No distinguishing marks of any kind."

"And you didn't notice that the palace was crawling with them this morning?" Galeni asked, a bit severely.

Alexis shook his head. "I wasn't there, actually. General Allegre had sent me out into the city on errands because my Lord Consort" – he nodded to Miles – "told him last night he wouldn't need me this morning. I had no idea anything was afoot until Inceri contacted me on my way back to the house. But even if I had been there," he added with a sigh, "I might not have recognized them."

"The rest of us certainly didn't," the Countess pointed out.

"Whatever they are, they pass as palace guards remarkably well," Miles remarked in rueful agreement. "All of Gregor's guards are tall, bland, and ornamental. I saw a number of the false guards this morning while I was wandering the house – that must have been just minutes before it happened – and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. They were more taciturn than usual, I suppose, but it's not like the guards are encouraged to engage in idle chatter while they're on duty."

An aide entered then, bowed politely to Miles, and handed a flimsy over to Galeni. He read it and nodded, looking less grim, if not exactly more cheerful. "Ah, I have tentatively good news," he said, and Miles straightened instinctively. "As you know, the Emperor and Count Vorkosigan were both outfitted with panic buttons, which include a standard locator. The Count, incidentally, had time to activate his; the Emperor, we believe, was stunned or rendered unconscious some other way too quickly. But we have been able to detect both locators moving about within the palace – the Emperor's primarily within your bedroom suite, and Count Vorkosigan's a little more widely."

Miles breathed out slowly, and, beside him, felt the Countess do the same. It didn't necessarily mean anything, he reminded himself; it could be someone that someone had found the locators and was playing a vicious prank on them. Gregor still wasn't answering his comlink, after all, and if he was well enough to move about their suite than he was well enough to answer Miles's calls. But it was something, and Galeni seemed somewhat more optimistic now. _Tentatively good news_, he had said, hedging his bets carefully. Miles didn't blame him.

"Is there any news so far on Allegre or Inceri, or Counselor Vorhallis?" the Countess asked.

"Yes, we have a read on their badges, which also have locators. They're being held in servants' quarters on the ground floor, in a room with access to a passage out of the palace, as it happens. But they're not moving and I think we have to assume they're unconscious."

"If she's smart, she'll probably keep them that way for the duration," Miles said. "What's the situation in the capital?"

"Tenuous. It's becoming apparent that something is wrong, at least to the holovid reporters camped out on the lawn. But they don't know what and we're trying to keep it that way. If word leaks out, as I'm afraid it eventually must, then I think we can expect more attacks like the ones we saw in the days following the closure of the wormhole." With an entirely closed expression Galeni added, "With your permission, my lord, I would like to increase the ImpSec presence in all major Komarran cities, as well as the shuttleports."

"Yes," Miles sighed, thinking that after all this their efforts to maintain Komarran-Barrayaran relations would be for naught, and it wasn't even Komarrans behind it. "Do it. But make sure they're _our_ men, all right?"

"Yes, my lord." Galeni made a note on his flimsy. "Speaking of the wormhole – depending on what the surgeon comes back to us with, I think we may find that this solves some of the holes in your theory."

"The pilot, you mean?"

"Yes. As well as the ships that were destroyed. If they were able to pass as guards in the Counselor's Residence, gaining entry to one of our ships would not have been difficult."

"I thought of that," Miles said. "It opens up rather a lot of unpleasant possibilities." A ship full of Bharaputra's agents could have gone through just before the fire ship, for instance. Or several ships, over a few days. They could have invaded by now, taken Vorbarr Sultana or bombed it into oblivion. Impossible to know.

_Or_, a small, nasty little voice in the back of Miles's head said, _even scarier would be just one, a completely forgettable face on one of the passenger liners with a small vial of deadly powder in his pocket. The wormhole closes, and a few days later, just as the panic starts to die down, people start getting sick. And then they start dying. And nothing helps because it's not like anything anyone has ever seen before. Ivan, Mark, Ekaterin, Alys, Simon, the Koudelkas – they could all be dead by now of some hell plague cooked up in Bharaputra's labs. You can't know – and you won't know until the wormhole opens up and you find out if there's anything left to go home to._

Miles shivered.

"Yes," Galeni agreed, looking about as queasy as Miles felt. Galeni could likely come up with a dozen more disturbing possibilities, considering his background. "Though I must admit, I'm not entirely sure _why_ she chose to blow up the ships."

Miles frowned. "I think she wanted us downside. She knew that if we were attacked in orbit, even indirectly, we'd move to Solstice." He let out a slow hiss of anger. "We walked right into it."

"Ah," Galeni said, looking even more uneasy. "Yes, that makes a bit too much sense. Well." He cleared his throat. "Unfortunately –"

"We can't do anything about any of it at present," Miles said reluctantly.

"It also would explain how she took the fleet," Quinn said, into the grim silence that ensued. "Remember Lieutenant Kosovich said that he was arrested by –"

"Two men who looked like brothers or cousins," Miles finished, and turned to Galeni. "Is Kosovich still here?"

"Yes, m'lord. In the infirmary."

"If he's able, could you see that he takes a look at the – whatever they are. I imagine he'll confirm our suspicions, but just to be sure."

"Of course." Galeni marked it down.

"Where do you think the Dendarii fit into her plan?" Quinn asked Miles. "Assuming she has one."

Miles shook his head. "Oh, she has one. Or at least Bharaputra does. And I don't know – I'd guess that she used them to take control of the Komarran ship that closed the wormhole, but beyond that –"

"Hostages," Galeni said quietly.

Miles looked up and met his eyes. "You think?"

Galeni nodded. "As you said before, m'lord, this is personal. She knows what they mean to you. She knows they'll be a distraction. They were convenient for her in other ways, I'm sure, but it wouldn't surprise me at all to learn they had very little strategic purpose in this."

Miles chewed on his lip. "Huh. Yeah." Though he was finding that the Dendarii mattered much less to him now. They were his past; Gregor was his future, and she held him captive in a much more concrete way.

He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table and glanced around, giving the others the opportunity to say something. When everyone simply looked back, he asked Galeni, "What do you suggest we do now?"

Galeni frowned. "I'm afraid you won't like it, my lord."

Miles grimaced. "It involves waiting, doesn't it?"

"Yes, my lord. Eventually there are a number of options we might explore, including taking back the Dendarii." Quinn lifted her chin in acknowledgment of Galeni's nod. "They might be more suitable for fighting these mysterious . . . I suppose we can simply call them soldiers for now."

"Soldiers," Miles mused. "House Bharaputra tried creating designer super soldiers once before. It didn't work out very well for them then. But this is a rather different tack. Whatever advantages Taura and her crèche-mates might have had over human soldiers, the ability to blend in was certainly not one of them. How long did the surgeon estimate before he would know more?"

"It was hard for him to say," Galeni said. "Somewhere between six hours and a full day cycle."

Miles glanced at his chrono and controlled the urge to twitch. Information would come eventually, but what might happen to Gregor and his father in the meantime? It had been bad enough when he'd assumed that Cavilo was the one behind it, but now it seemed it was actually House Bharaputra, out for blood after the blow they'd been dealt with the antidote. Cavilo was the needle grenade aimed in their direction, dangerous on her own in the way that all things crazy and unpredictable were. But with the Baron pulling the trigger she was downright chilling.

"Let me know," was all he said in the end, rising to signal the end of the meeting. "And of course, if anything more comes in from the palace –"

"Of course, my lord," Galeni said, and stopped him briefly as the others filed out. "Miles, something will happen eventually. Whether it's Cavilo or someone else –"

"It's Cavilo," Miles said firmly. "Bharaputra might be her backer, maybe even her employer, and it might be his plan, but she's the one in the field."

"Whatever the case, she _will_ tip her hand," Galeni said.

"You expect her to make demands?" the Countess said, appearing suddenly at Miles's shoulder.

"Something like that, m'lady," Galeni said, turning his hand palm out. "Perhaps not quite so direct. She must want something to have gone to all this trouble."

Miles nodded. It made sense. In a way, knowing that Bharaputra was behind it gave him more faith in _sense_. The Baron was a businessman. He didn't believe in wasting money to no purpose. Cavilo might have wasted time, resources, and lives simply because she desired chaos for Barrayar, but Bharaputra would never have approved such a scheme. Galeni was probably right – which didn't make sitting on his hands any easier.

Galeni took his leave, leaving Miles alone with the Countess and Quinn. The three of them looked at each other, and then the Countess asked Miles quietly, "What are you thinking?"

Miles took his time answering, and when he finally did, it was with deliberate slowness. "I am thinking that there are five shuttles sitting in this ship's docking bay. I know the codes to all of them; Allegre gave them to Gregor and me in case of emergency. Inceri is gone. So is Allegre. Galeni is busy. The three of us could be off this ship in ten minutes, and in Solstice in less than two hours."

Quinn sucked in a sharp breath, and straightened up from where she'd been leaning casually up against the table. "Sounds like a plan."

Miles looked to his mother, who pursed her lips and shook her head, mutely. "You did it for me once," he reminded her.

"I did," she said. "And don't think part of me doesn't want to say _yes, let's_. But, Miles, Gregor would never . . ."

"I know," Miles replied. _He would never trust me again. He would never stop fearing – me._ This was maybe his one chance to prove to Gregor that he had changed, that even if he hadn't stopped thinking like a mercenary, then at least he'd learned some self-control. And maybe it was his one chance to prove to himself that giving up his place at the center of the action didn't mean giving up entirely the part of himself that he still thought of as Naismith. He glanced toward Quinn, "I'm sorry," he said. "But if Galeni is right, you might be headed back to the Dendarii a lot sooner than you expected."

She sighed. "Well, there isn't anything quite like mounting a rescue mission against overwhelming odds to really get your adrenaline going. But I suppose if you're determined to be reasonable about the whole thing . . ."

"I think I have to be," Miles said, and then added, after a pause, "Unless, of course, circumstances become extenuating."

"Of course," the Countess murmured. "Perhaps you would care to define 'extenuating'?"

Miles considered. "No, I don't think I do, actually."

"I thought not."

Miles's comlink stayed stubbornly silent over the next several hours. He tried several times, knowing all the while that it was hopeless. If Gregor had been able to, he would have contacted Miles himself.

_It doesn't mean anything. It could have been taken – it's easily recognizable for what it is. Or they could be keeping him stunned or drugged. It doesn't mean anything._

Less than comforting, all things considered.

He and his mother were dining with Quinn in the Countess's cabin, all three mutually prodding each other to eat, when Galeni appeared with the report from the ship's surgeon. Alexis trailed behind him, ducking into the room with a nod to Miles as the door slid shut.

"He's still working," Galeni said, seating himself at the table beside Quinn. Alexis hung back, leaning against the wall and listening with interest. Galeni shook his head to an offer of food, and though he accepted a glass of wine, it remained untouched. "I imagine we'll all have the chance to ask questions in a few hours, but I wanted to deliver the preliminary report myself. His findings are extremely interesting. Fascinating, really."

"I thought they might be," Miles said, setting his fork aside. "Let's hear it."

"Right." Galeni took a deep breath and glanced down at the flimsy in his hand. "As near as the surgeon could tell, the, ah, creature that tried to kill you is an artificially intelligent, semi-organic humanoid."

"Humanoid?" the Countess repeated.

"Semi-organic?" Miles added with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, m'lord, Countess. They're more man than machine, the surgeon says. Hair, skin, blood, muscles, even some of the major organs like the heart and lungs – it's all there."

"They'd be given away by any basic diagnostic scan otherwise," Quinn observed.

"That was my thought too," Galeni agreed. "Interestingly, all the organs related to digestion are missing, which would indicate that whatever power source these, erm, humanoids use, it's not food. But the real wonder, at least according to the surgeon, is that the nervous system seems to have been entirely replaced by circuitry."

There was a moment of silence. Then Miles said reflectively, "Huh."

"It makes sense," the Countess said. "It's the same idea behind nerve replacement therapy, but no one had taken it this far before."

Galeni nodded. "The surgeon said the same thing. He was very excited; I gather it's quite the breakthrough."

The Countess nodded. "It would have to be. Unusually advanced for a Jacksonian House."

"They could have stolen it," Quinn pointed out. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"What about the artificial intelligence?" Miles asked. "How intelligent are we talking here? They have language, obviously."

"That is harder to determine at this juncture," Galeni answered carefully. "He believes there must be a certain amount of autonomy, though we have no way of knowing how much. It's possible that they can't make strategic decisions, but only smaller tactical decisions in pursuit of the larger goal they've been assigned. Or they might have something approaching – or even exceeding – human intelligence."

"Hmm," Miles said. "The actions of the one on the shuttle weren't especially intelligent. All the same . . ."

The Countess looked thoughtful. "Are they sentient?"

"Not as such, no, Countess. They're not alive. At least, not according to the surgeon, and I think we have to trust him to know the difference between something that's really alive and something that only looks like it is."

"I didn't ask if they were alive," the Countess said mildly. "I asked if they were sentient. We may have just encountered a difference. Do they understand their purpose? Do they feel emotions? Pain?"

"That merits further study," Galeni said carefully. "We don't know yet."

"Is there a weak point?" Miles asked. "Kosovich described them as extremely strong."

"We don't know that yet either, m'lord. However," Galeni added, "they must be receiving orders from Cavilo somehow, and I suspect that it's not through conventional means. Anything that receives orders is subject to having those orders altered."

Miles sat back. "Ah," he said.

"Quite."

"How might that be done?"

Galeni turned his hand palm-out, nearly shrugging. "That, m'lord, would be the sticking point in that particular plan. In the meantime, we're going to attempt something a bit more direct. There are a number of entrances and exits to the palace that we're fairly certain Cavilo can't know about. We're going to send a team in and see what they can find out."

"Very good, Commodore," Miles said, quashing a quick flash of jealousy. _Midnight raids aren't for you, boy. Not anymore. Get over it._ "Keep us updated no matter the hour, all right?

"Of course, sir." Galeni and Alexis took their leave.

"Artificially intelligent, semi-organic humanoids," his mother murmured. "Hmm."

Later in the evening, after his mother had retired, Miles went to the infirmary. The surgeon was taking a well-deserved break and the body of the humanoid was laid out alone and covered with a sheet in a room off the main clinic. Miles approached it with inexplicable caution and slowly peeled the sheet back. It had been sliced open from head to toe, but the blood had been either drained or rinsed away. The top of its head was missing completely, exposing an astonishing mass of wiring. Its eyes were closed. The resemblance to an autopsy, a procedure Miles had been unfortunate enough to witness on a few occasions, was unavoidable.

"Kosovich gave a positive identification earlier," Quinn's voice said from the doorway.

Miles glanced up as she came in. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "I'm curious. Isn't that why you're here?"

"I suppose." He glanced back down, oddly disturbed, and recalled the hot spray of blood on his face as his mother had stabbed the one in the garden.

"I wonder how many of these Bharaputra has."

Miles shook his head, both in response and to dislodge the clinging memories. "I don't know, but I'm sure he's attempting to assemble an army."

Quinn blew out her breath. "A Jacksonian Baron with an army. That would change the face of the Nexus."

"An army of soldiers who probably don't sleep or eat," Miles pointed out grimly, "and certainly don't mutiny or refuse to follow orders. Who probably don't _fear_."

"But there must be limitations," Quinn pointed out, a little desperately. "No creativity or imagination. There's bound to be things they can't be used for. Maybe they're just cannon fodder."

Miles shrugged. "I don't know. I hope you're right, but if the pilot of the fireship really was one of these things, it seems that might be underestimating them. I guess that's just circuitry too, in a way. But surely jumping requires independence of thought – not to mention a great deal of skill. Computers and robots can't do it at all."

Quinn nodded and contemplated the sheet-covered figure, frowning, then glanced sidelong at him. "Miles," she said, quirking an eyebrow, "you want to get drunk?"

It was probably not a smart idea to get completely inebriated, he reflected as they left the infirmary. On the other hand, he thought, swinging one bottle of excellent Vorkosigan red carelessly from his hand while Elli carried the other with a bit more discretion, it might not be a bad thing for him to be rather anesthetized right about now. He doubted he'd sleep otherwise, and they wouldn't know about the results of the rescue attempt for a while, especially if things went well.

They passed by the shuttlebay on their way to Quinn's cabin. Miles's steps faltered briefly, and his gaze crossed Quinn's. His hand tightened on the neck of the wine bottle, and for a second he could see events unfolding before him like a holovid on fast forward: a frantic shuttle flight, outracing time and ImpSec, stealing across Solstice in secret and sneaking into the palace, avoiding the humanoid guards – somehow. He'd make it up as he went along, he'd been good at that once. Still was, when circumstances called for it. And then a heroic, near fatal rescue of Gregor and the Count and a desperate chase back through the city to their shuttle, complete with near misses and perhaps even an injury or two.

_Daring rescues were my – our – specialty_. He could almost taste the adrenalin in the back of his mouth, bitter on his tongue.

Quinn would back him up if anyone would. She'd never wanted to lose Naismith to Lord Vorkosigan to begin with.

But Gregor . . . Gregor would just kill him.

He took a deep breath, and walked on.


	7. Chapter 7

Gregor was still sitting on the bed, feeling rather stunned by his encounter with Cavilo, when the Count returned a few minutes later. He was accompanied by the two burly guards, who deposited him and withdrew without a word or even a facial expression. Aral cast a rather spooked look over his shoulder as they left.

"I didn't see them," Aral said, before Gregor even had the chance to ask. "They just marched me down the hall and into another room."

Gregor nodded, swallowing against the ever-present sick feeling in his stomach. "I think we have to assume they're not here. She told me Miles was gone."

Aral frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

Gregor spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know."

"Did she say anything else interesting?"

Gregor hesitated, wondering if he'd only imagined the capitalization of _Deal_. He could be wrong, but her emphasis had seemed significant. He told Aral briefly what she had said, and what his suspicions were, and was oddly gratified when the Count began nodding his agreement.

"That would fill in a lot of holes," the Count mused. "Bharaputra, I would assume. I don't know why we didn't see that possibility before."

Gregor sighed and stood, deciding that if Miles wasn't there to pace, he might as well do so in his stead. "They just have never had the numbers to be a threat. The Barons expend so much energy and money fighting each other, there was never any chance of them banding together to strike off-planet. But she kept talking about an army, which rather concerns me."

"Hmm." The Count and fell silent, leaving Gregor to think grim thoughts about what could happen – what might have happened already, in fact – if House Bharaputra really had managed to assemble an army and design a campaign of revenge against himself and Miles personally, and Barrayar more generally. He could not regret for one second his decision to order the agents to steal the antidote; he wondered just what, exactly, Bharaputra had expected when he'd agreed to make the poison in the first place. Not that these were arguments that Gregor expected to hold up when or if he ever confronted the Baron face to face.

It did not seem he would be doing this any time soon. The day passed, marked by the arrival of meals and the slow crawl of the sun and the soletta array across the Solstice skyline, which was just barely visible out their window. They tried the holovid, hoping to catch some glimpse of life beyond the palace walls – it would be useful at least to know how much had leaked out by now – but it had predictably been disabled. Gregor spent nearly an hour looking, to no avail, for his comlink, hoping it might have fallen off inside the suite itself. He was entirely unsurprised when he failed to find it.

The Count had fallen asleep in the armchair by the time Gregor finally gave up this exercise in futility and sat down on the bed, watching the last of the soletta array's light fading from the slice of sky he could see. _Miles, what would you do?_ he wondered. _Survive. Escape. Sabotage,_ a certain voice replied. Surviving did not seem to be a problem at the moment for either of them. Escaping . . . he eyed the door contemplatively, and decided that getting himself stunned again would do no one any good, and might, in fact, endanger the Count. Attempting the window without anti-grav rappelling gear would be lethal – would probably be lethal even with the anti-grav gear, actually.

Sabotage, now, sabotage could be subtle, as Gregor had proven last time he'd been held hostage by Cavilo. She'd be on the lookout for that again, and she'd more than outwitted him during their last meeting. But she'd inevitably be back, and this time he might be prepared. Unfortunately he lacked the same leverage he'd had last time they'd met, and as for persuading her, well, she hadn't seemed like she'd been much in the mood to be persuaded. Miles, with his silver tongue and his quicksilver mind, could have done it. All Gregor had was his title and the power of his persona, and Cavilo seemed immune to both.

Back on Barrayar, there was an ImpSec file six inches thick, filled with tales of Miles's daring escapes. Gregor had read all of them, many several times over, while Miles had been off in the far reaches of the galaxy. He had been alternately amazed and terrified and not a little envious. With the exception of that adventure involving the Cetagandan death squad five years ago, most of Gregor's adventures had been rather like this – sitting in a well-appointed room, waiting for ImpSec to come rescue him. Quite a bit more passive than he'd imagined adventures should be, but maybe that was only due to spending too much time immersed in Miles's file.

He wished he had the file with him now. Well, really he wished he had Miles himself with him now, and part of him both hoped and dreaded that he'd come bursting in here, ImpSec on his heels and manic glint in his eye, in absolute violation of everything he'd promised Gregor. _First I'd kiss him. Then I'd kill him._

Inspiration had not yet struck when Cavilo arrived, as Gregor had half-expected, with their evening meal. She dismissed the two guards – the same ones as earlier? – with a subtle hand motion when they were done laying out the food. She wore an obscenely tight red jumpsuit, no loose Komarran garb this time, and held the little black comlink in her hands, toying with it idly. Gregor couldn't help staring at it.

She smiled sweetly and held it up. "I think you were looking for this earlier."

Gregor resisted the urge to try and snatch it out of her hand. "Yes," he said evenly, "as a matter of fact, I was."

She played with it some more, slipped it onto her own wrist and held it out at arm's length, admiring it. "Pretty," she remarked. "It must have been very expensive." Gregor didn't answer. He could feel Aral, silent and still and tense just beside him. She hadn't removed him this time. Gregor tried to decide if he should find this encouraging. "Ah well," she sighed at last, having failed to provoke him. "The things we do for love. Would you like it back?"

"Yes," Gregor ground out.

"Very well. As you wish." There was a carafe of wine on the table, heavy bottomed and filled with a very dark red. She picked it up, hefting it comfortably in her hand, and brought it down with a dull _crunch_ onto the comlink, shattering it into pieces. She picked it up and tossed it gently onto his side of the table. "Not that it would have done you any good. Enjoy your meal," she said, standing and leaving Gregor wondering just _why_ he felt so stunned.

At the door she turned, one hand resting gently on the nerve disruptor in her hip holster, and said, "Oh, yes. One more thing. Today four very earnest men – ImpSec, I assume – attempted to break in, presumably to rescue you. I shot them all." She made a disruptor with one hand and mimed it, with a smile that turned Gregor's stomach. "Just thought you might like to know they haven't forgotten you." The door sighed shut.

"She's bluffing," the Count said gruffly.

"Maybe about the agents," Gregor said, regarding the mess of glass shards and minute wiring wearily, "but not about this."

"Don't let it bother you. It would have been worse if she had given it to you."

"How so?"

"You would have been tempted to contact Miles," the Count pointed out, "but you could not have done so without wondering just where that fit into her plan. Everything does, in one way or another, I'm quite sure."

Gregor let out a long breath. "True," he conceded. "But what do you think she meant by, 'It wouldn't have done you any good?'"

The Count had no answer. They picked at dinner until the guards came to take it away, and then retired without another word.

Sleep was elusive for Gregor that night. He curled uncomfortably in the armchair, having insisted that the Count take the bed, and imagined a number of things. Miles dead for one, even though Gregor's gut told him Cavilo would be handling this differently if he were, and a string of catastrophic scenarios involving Bharaputra and his personal army for another. By sunrise he was thoroughly sick of the inside of his own head. He showered and dressed, this time in his ultra-formal black and silver House uniform. A tad overdone for breakfast, he thought, returning the Count's raised eyebrows. But Cavilo was not easily impressed. It was time, he thought, to remind her just who she was dealing with. And he was done waiting.

"Well, well," she said, when she arrived, as he'd anticipated, with their breakfast. She broke into a broad smile. "What have we here? I do love a man in uniform."

"Sit down, Cavie, darling," he returned dryly, and waved her into the seat across from him.

She raised her eyebrows ironically, but was plainly too curious to do anything other than obey. She waved away the guards and they withdrew, as silent as ever. "And just what do you hope to accomplish with this?" she asked, gesturing to encompass Gregor's uniform and general person.

"You said you wanted to Deal," Gregor said, with subtle emphasis. "I'm ready to do so."

"Oh, are you?" she purred, smiling again.

"Yes. I presume you are as well. You can't hold the palace forever, you know, whatever you might think."

"I _think_," she replied, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest, "that holding a nerve disruptor to either of your heads will do much to aide me there. Don't you agree, Count Vorkosigan?"

"We are neither of us unexpendable," the Count replied. "Don't overestimate our value."

"Hmm." She narrowed her eyes and cut her gaze to Gregor. "You told me something similar once."

"I did. Where do you think I learned it?" Gregor folded his napkin into his lap, and began dishing up groats out of the chafing dish. "In any case, I don't see how you gain anything by stalling for time."

"Well, making you miserable is pretty much a goal in its own right," she said, with just a hint of snarl in her voice. She swallowed, blinked, and her face relaxed back into its usual calm, satisfied countenance.

Gregor nodded gravely. "Ah yes, I had figured as much. Perhaps I should re-phrase. I think I made the same mistake before, when I asked you what you wanted. What does the Baron gain from you stalling for time?"

For a moment, Gregor didn't think she was going to answer. She poured a cup of coffee, black, and sipped at it. "Nothing," she said at last. "But he's not here to complain." She shrugged. "Such is the risk of delegation."

"Nevertheless, he must be getting restless, wanting to see results in exchange for his resources. So, Cavie, why don't we just get to the point. What does he want?"

She shook her head, smiling to herself with a quiet amusement that made the hair on Gregor's arms stand straight up. "Greg, my dear, you're _missing_ the point. It's not about what he wants – well, I suppose it is, at that. But no. He has what he wants: you and your little empire, in the palm of his hand. Whether he closes his fist and squashes you like a bug, that is up to you."

The Count gave a gruff chuckle. "An army doesn't make anyone all-powerful, girl, as you well know. And I refuse to believe that he has the resources for an army to rival Barrayar's."

Cavilo bristled visibly at _girl_, to Gregor's satisfaction. If they could put her off balance, make her even a little ill at ease, it might be to their advantage. "Believe what you want, old man. What about an army that doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, never tires, never complains or mutinies, that has no compunction whatsoever about laying down lives in the line of duty? An army of completely interchangeable parts that can be moved about at will?" She took another sip of coffee and added, "That, by the way, would be the trump card I think is worth my life."

Gregor controlled his wince at the line borrowed from their message. "Not possible," the Count replied, apparently missing the reference. "An army like that can't exist."

"Oh, but it does. I've seen it. So have you."

Gregor stared at her. "The guards." She nodded, lifting her chin. "Are they human?"

"I suppose that would depend on how you define human. They're as human as they need to be, let's say." She paused for a moment, letting this sink in, watching their faces with apparent relish. "So you see," she continued, "it's not really about what he wants, though he does, of course, have a price in mind."

"A price for what?" Gregor asked, through lips gone dry.

"For not invading," she said, as though it were obvious. "For not declaring a war which you would most certainly lose."

"You can't tell me that he wants trade concessions or something," Gregor said, frowning. "We've never traded with Jackson's Whole. Some of their goods pass through Komarr on occasion –"

She laughed. "Oh no, Greg. You're thinking too small again. Think big. The Jacksonian Barons have always been relegated to the role of merchants. Wealthy merchants, but merchants nonetheless, ignored by the larger empires and governments of the Nexus. He doesn't want your trade – most Barrayarans are too poor to buy his services and too backward to want them. He wants worlds. Planets. Sergyar, to be specific."

"What?" Gregor said, in what he feared was an undignified yelp.

"Well, he can't have it," the Count said, with a great deal more dignity, if rather blunter than Gregor would have been.

"Sergyar was claimed and settled by Barrayar two generations ago," Gregor said. "It was colonized by Barrayarans. We couldn't just lop it off even if we wanted to."

"The Baron trusts you will find a way," she said. She stood and stretched, appearing quite energized, but perhaps it was only that moving _just so_ showed her jumpsuit-clad figure off to best advantage. "I'm a busy little bee this morning, but I'll be back in a couple of hours. I'd think very carefully if I were you – you have three planets, after all. Some people might call that greedy."

"Well," Gregor said once she'd gone, "Miles rather predicted this. Crazy, not petty, he said." His hands were shaking, he noticed, glancing down at where the held his teacup. He set it down carefully and folded them in his lap.

"At least we know more than we did."

"Yes," Gregor said slowly, and then sighed, shaking his head. "Which is no more or less than she wanted us to, I believe." He felt steady enough to attempt his teacup again, which helped with the dryness in his mouth. _Crazy, not petty_, Miles had said. _Think big._

They'd had no idea.

*~*~*

 

Miles woke alone in their bed, rising slowly to consciousness and wondering why Gregor wasn't with him, until he blinked all the way awake at last and remembered. The bedside chrono read 0816, which was later than he'd intended, but then again, he and Elli had sat up late the night before. The present had been too overwhelming to contemplate, so they'd talked about the past, until that too became too fraught to think about anymore. Old friends, old lovers . . .

The Dendarii were just an organization, Miles had reminded himself. Organizations changed, and except for Elli, there weren't many left from the old days anymore. He'd been relegated to _legend_, a status to which he'd once aspired but that now rang hollow. He didn't miss the terror, he'd thought as they relived a few of their more exciting exploits – the ones where they'd gotten out by "the hair on our asses," as Quinn put it – but it had been manageable. This new kind of terror, the kind where he sat in a beautiful room completely safe while other people risked their lives, he just wasn't sure he was cut out for it. Or what he'd do, exactly, if he discovered he wasn't.

Finally they'd fallen silent, and eventually Miles had fallen asleep. He'd woken to find Alexis and Pym marching him down the hallway to his room, where he'd fallen onto the bed and let his poor, put-upon assistant take his boots off for him. "Thanks," he'd mumbled and rolled over to fall back to sleep.

He dressed in one of his usual gray suits without calling for Pym and went in search of coffee, his mother, and information. He found all three together in the library, the latter in the form of a very grim Galeni, who looked as though he hadn't slept at all, along with Quinn and Alexis. "Good morning," Miles said, pouring himself coffee. The others murmured their good mornings, except for Alexis, who returned Miles's nod with a polite, "My lord."

Miles sat down. "So, what's the bad news?" he asked, trying to keep his hands from tightening too perceptibly on his coffee cup. Presumably they'd have woken him, if they'd received any news, either good or ill, about Gregor and his father.

Galeni cleared his throat. "The agents we sent in for reconnaissance were killed last night."

"Ah," Miles said faintly. "How do you know?"

"They were all wearing microcams and transmitters, which recorded everything. They made it into the building, but were then recognized and shot on sight by the humanoids."

Miles had to consciously unclench his hand from around his coffee cup. At least he didn't have to worry about breaking his own fingers anymore in these situations. "I see," he said at last, so mildly that Galeni and Quinn both flinched. "So, the direct approach seems not to have worked."

"Apparently not. I was just speaking to Captain Avalos here," he nodded toward Alexis, "about the possibilities of a less direct approach."

Miles cut his gaze away to Alexis. "You think that might be possible?"

"Perhaps, m'lord. Cavilo must be giving the humanoids their orders somehow, if my understanding of their function is correct. I have a few guesses based on my experiences in Bharaputra's labs, though nothing specific, unfortunately." Alexis paused and glanced toward Galeni, who nodded for him to go on. "But I am almost certain that however she's doing it, it has to be on location, from within the house."

"So someone would have to go in for us to even have a chance," Miles said, frowning. "And you just got through telling me how the last four people we sent in were shot on sight."

"We think, my lord, that they were recognized because they were so many," Galeni said. "One person on his own, disguised as one of the humanoids, might go unnoticed."

"One person, on his own?" Miles repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think I like where this is going." He crossed his arms over his chest and shot Alexis a significant look.

"He's the only one who makes sense," Galeni said. "He has direct, hands-on experience with Bharaputra's technology."

"Though not _this_ technology specifically," Alexis added quickly. "One glimpse in a lab during a mission doesn't help much with something like this. But if I could get in, I might be able to disable her system severely." He shrugged, and gave Miles an eerie half-smile, one recovering adrenalin junkie to another. "And I thought my days in the field were over."

"I don't like it," Miles said bluntly.

"My lord, if I may be so bold," Alexis said, and Miles _knew_ he wasn't going to like what Alexis was about to say, "it's no more risky than many of the missions you undertook as Admiral Naismith. Less risky than some, in fact."

"True," Quinn said helpfully.

"Only when there were no other options," Miles replied, glaring at Quinn. "I'm not yet convinced there are no other options, or that this plan wouldn't just get you shot like the other agents." He took a deep breath. "I want to wait another day cycle. We still don't know what Cavilo wants, and finding that out would be a distinct advantage in planning any rescue scenario."

Galeni nodded but said, "There are preparations that need to be set in motion if we are to eventually follow Captain Avalos's plan. If we proceed with them now, we could be ready to move forward at the end of the day cycle. Do we have your permission to proceed, my lord?"

Miles hesitated briefly. "Yes," he said at last. "Go ahead."

"Thank you, my lord," Galeni noted something on his flimsy. He looked up. "In the meantime, I've asked Admiral Quinn to attempt to return to the Dendarii, along with a squadron of ImpSec agents, to assess the situation and retake the fleet, if possible."

"Without getting shot at again, I hope," Miles said.

Quinn nodded. "I have a few ideas, now that we know what we're dealing with. And Cavilo is in Solstice now, don't forget."

"We assume so," Galeni corrected. "We haven't been able to confirm that."

"Right." Quinn shrugged, and then smiled, more genuinely cheerful than Miles had seen her since she'd arrived. "It will be an adventure." She checked her chrono. "Actually, my ship leaves in less than two hours. May I – ?"

"Of course," Miles said. "I'll come see you before you leave."

"There's something else to think about, m'lord," Galeni said, once Elli had left. "I realize it's difficult to think long-term at the moment, but a Jacksonian baron with an army has some very real, very unpleasant potential."

Miles sighed. "Quinn and I were talking about that last night. I'm aware. I'm just not sure what to do about it." He paused to take a contemplative sip of coffee, and then added dubiously, "We could send a squad, I suppose, to destroy the technology." He raised an eyebrow at Alexis, inviting his opinion.

Alexis grimaced. "Perhaps as a stopgap measure. But we could never be sure we didn't miss something, and the chances of them recreating it are high."

Galeni nodded and added, "They're probably expecting something like that from us anyway."

"Hmm," Miles said, drumming his fingers on the table. "Then I suppose we should do something . . . unexpected. Damned if I know what it would be, though. We'll have to wait and see how this all plays out." He sighed. "Is there anything else?"

"No, my lord, that's all for now. I'll let you know if there are any developments."

"Thank you, Duv," Miles said, and everyone except himself and his mother decamped with rapidity. Miles poured himself fresh coffee and eyed her from across the table. He found himself unable to read her expression and was inexplicably worried by this. "You didn't say much," he remarked.

"I find it more enlightening to listen, on occasion," she said, wrapping her hands around her teacup. "I promise you I'm not cowed by the testosterone."

"That wasn't what I meant. I was just wondering if you were feeling yourself."

"No more or less than you are, I'm sure," she said calmly. "Though I can't say I slept particularly well. I never do when your father is away."

"I know the feeling," Miles said quietly, thinking that perhaps he ought to have invited her to join him and Quinn the night before. He cleared his through. "What do you think of Alexis's plan?"

"I think it's bold. Impetuous, even. I think it has little chance of success." She took a deep breath. "And if you've chosen the right man as your assistant, which I expect you have, given your record with picking personnel, I think he just might pull it off."

"Yeah. That's what I think too."

The Countess sipped her tea and looked thoughtful. "You know," she added after a moment's silence, "Barrayar is not the only one who will be concerned about the Baron's army. He's targeted us for the moment, but really, it could have unpleasant consequences for just about everybody."

"True. What are you thinking?"

"That perhaps a tightbeam message to, for instance, the Escobaran and Betan presidents might not go amiss at this juncture." She raised a single, significant eyebrow. "And possibly one to your friend the ghem-general as well."

"Huh." Miles sat back. "I hadn't thought of that, but you might have something there. Bharaputra could be a threat to any one of us, but a galactic alliance –"

"Is long overdue, in my opinion," the Countess said. "We have simply been lacking a common goal – or enemy, in this case."

"It's worth a try." He sat for a moment, then drained the dregs of his coffee. He could just see the look on Benin's face – too bad he couldn't break the news in person. Not that he could regret Benin's prompt departure after the wedding. All the same . . .

Miles nodded and stood. "Thank you, Mother, I'll send them at once."

It took him an hour and a half to compose the messages to his satisfaction. Miles spent particular time on Benin's; the ghem-general would undoubtedly see the threat, even to Cetaganda, but convincing him that an alliance would be in his empire's best interests was something else altogether. Cetaganda didn't make alliances, it made conquests – but then, the same could have once been said of Barrayar, and that attitude would do nothing but weaken them all in the face of this new threat.

"This is going to change the face of the Nexus no matter what," Miles said bluntly, in the conclusion of his message. "The question is how. We're just going to have to learn to trust each other."

By the time the messages were ready to be tight-beamed, it was time to see Elli off. She looked bright eyed and eager in her spotless gray and white uniform when Miles found her in the shuttlebay. "Good luck," she told him.

"You too," he said. He gripped her hands briefly and then she was gone. It would be a short journey for her; the Dendarii were just beyond the boundaries of the empire, about a twelve hour trip from Komarr. Whatever happened, it would hopefully be quick.

Miles prepared himself for another long bout of waiting, for Cavilo, for Elli, for replies from the other planetary governments. He went into the library and called up everything that even mentioned Bharaputra's name, set the discouragingly short stack of discs beside him, and determined to go through them methodically. He didn't really think they might contain the solution to their problems, but one never knew. Research had saved his ass on a case more often than he cared to admit. Lately Alexis had been the one buried up to his elbows in mind-numbing book discs, but he was busy at the moment and Miles needed to stay out of the way for the duration.

He just about jumped out of his skin when the door slid open not an even an hour later. "My lord Consort," Galeni said. "There's a call for you. It's her."

The book disc went flying across the room. In less than a minute Miles was on the bridge, facing Cavilo's smooth, impenetrable face. "Is this real time?" Miles asked Galeni out the side of his mouth.

"Yes, my lord. There's a short lag."

"Right." Miles took a deep breath, straightened the jacket of his suit, and stepped forward into the vid-pickup. "Cavilo. You haven't changed a bit, except for the crow's feet. I'd think you could do something about that, working for Bharaputra."

"Lord Vorkosigan," she returned, seconds later, lips half-twisted in irony. "Or whatever else you're going by these days. How many personalities do you have now?"

"Personas, not personalities," he said smoothly. "Hats, belike." He frowned, deliberately changed his tone, adopting the one he thought of privately as, _Yes, I _am _ an Auditor, and you're a blithering nitwit, undoubtedly guilty of_ something. "And before this goes any further, Cavie, darling, I want proof that Gregor and my father are unharmed, or we will blow you off the face of the planet. I'm not joking. And don't think for one moment that I've forgotten the lesson you taught me so well all those years ago – footage isn't even close to enough. I want to talk to them both."

She sighed. "I knew you would be tedious about this. Very well. Just a moment."

Her face dissolved, and Miles held his breath, waiting. Someone must have fetched his mother, because she was standing off to the side, watching the vid-pickup with a single-minded determination that felt oddly familiar. Within thirty seconds the picture resolved itself into Gregor's face, and Miles felt something hard and cold and painful unknot itself in his chest. "Oh thank God," he breathed.

"She's watching," Gregor replied tersely. "I'm almost certain."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Gregor said.

"My father?"

Gregor shifted, and then the Count was there, rather haggard and weary but definitely alive. "I'm fine," he said. "Neither of us is hurt."

Gregor darted a glance off to the side, and when he spoke again, it was with a degree more urgency. "Miles, the agents – she said she shot four agents. Was she bluffing?"

Miles shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. That was a stupid move in hindsight."

"She has these – I don't know what they are. I don't think they're human."

"They're not. Have you seen Allegre or Inceri or the Counselor?"

"No. Miles, you can't give her what she wants, no matter what. She wants –"

The picture blinked out. Miles clenched his fists in frustration and had to consciously relax his muscles one by one when Cavilo re-appeared. "Well," she said, "that's enough of that. Satisfied?"

"Yes. Care to tell me what Gregor was about to say there, or would you prefer more witty repartee?"

"If you insist. I would wager that he was about to tell you that I want Sergyar. Which is true, though there was a lot he was leaving out. For instance, that I personally have no interest in your worm-infested little backwater. Bharaputra, on the other hand, has a great interest in it, in exchange for not invading the rest of your empire."

"He wants a planet in exchange for not invading?" Miles repeated, with more incredulity than he actually felt. "That's ridiculous. He'd never win against us to begin with. The Baron has proven once more, as he has in the past, that he doesn't understand the human factor in warfare. If the Cetagandans couldn't do it, then he certainly can't."

"Is that a risk you really want to take?" Cavilo asked, all helpful concern. "I've toured Bharaputra's labs, and let me tell you, there are some nasty biologicals there that you don't want to be on the wrong end of."

Too true, unfortunately. Miles shrugged. "There always have been. The Cetagandans have them too. So do we, for that matter. This was a fool's errand from the beginning, Cavilo, and Bharaputra knew it. Must be why he sent you."

"Ah," she said, smiling, smirking really. "This sounds familiar. Greg said something very similar, you know. Now I'm going to tell you what I told him, and I expect it might have more of an effect on you." She turned up the wattage on her smile until she hit what Miles thought of as _rabid mongoose_ level. "I have a nerve disruptor to your husband's head and your father's too, and one wormhole jump away I have a several ships full of mercenaries that are entirely at my mercy. I will put every single one of them out the nearest airlock if I have to." She gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I stand to gain a pleasure dome on Mars for my trouble either way, but personally I hope you do try to hold out. Shooting Greg in the head is something I should have done fifteen years ago."

"Thus causing an intergalactic incident the likes of which you are not prepared for."

"What, you think you can make me doubt myself? Is that what you're trying to do? Lord Vorkosigan," she sighed, shaking her head, "you may think that you have somehow progressed beyond me in the last fifteen years, and ten years ago, perhaps I would have agreed with you. But now – I think you're soft. You've gotten comfortable. Bureaucratic. And you've gained yourself a lot of weaknesses you didn't have when last we met."

Miles stomped down firmly on the voice in the back of his head that tended to agree with her. Then he sat on it for good measure. "Not to philosophize too much, but I do believe that that is where we differ: how we define weakness, and what we make of those we have."

"How wise," she said dryly. "Though I find I must agree. I have cultivated a life without weakness." _Except for the psychosis_, Miles thought, and had to bite his tongue to keep from saying it out loud. Mouthing off may have been what had got them into this mess to begin with. "But I find I've grown weary of this, haven't you?"

"Quite. I assume you have some sort of ultimatum for me? Three days to etcetera, etcetera?"

"Three days! My goodness, what a generous extortionist you would be. No, I think four hours is sufficient, don't you?"

"Four hours!" Miles sputtered, while Galeni made a noise like a cat being strangled and an aide went dashing off the bridge. To what purpose, Miles could only guess. "You can't be serious. Do you have any idea of the legal complexities involved in relinquishing control of an entire _planet_?"

"My, my, you really have become quite the stylus-pushing bureaucrat. Nevertheless, I trust I have sufficiently motivated you. And anyway, it is, quite happily, not my problem. I'll be in touch. Have a pleasant day." And before Miles could open his mouth to delay her even a little longer, the screen winked out and she was gone.

"Well," his mother said, as Miles turned to her. "Wasn't that . . . enlightening."

"Very," Miles said grimly.


	8. Chapter 8

"Tell me again," Miles said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why exactly are you less likely to be shot than the other agents?"

Alexis squinted and blinked into the mirror. "Damn contacts," he muttered. "They always were my least favorite part of a disguise. And I don't care what they say, the vid pickup makes my eyes water."

"Alexis."

"I find your concern most touching, my lord," Alexis said a bit dryly, as he affixed the telltale Horus eyes to the collar of his uniform jacket.

"Yes, well, you'd be hard to replace. There aren't that many people willing to put up with me on a daily basis, and only a small percentage of those that I'm willing to put up with. And you haven't answered my question."

"The idea, my lord," Alexis said, frowning down at the jacket, "is that the others were too conspicuous as a group. Alone, I might be able to pass."

"Hmm," Miles said. He had to admit, Alexis certainly looked the part; a bottle of hair dye had turned his black hair a light shade of brown, and the contacts, in addition to providing a vid pickup that could be linked through to ImpSec Solstice, turned his dark eyes blue. Makeup had lightened his skin until no one would have guessed at his Greek heritage; Miles only hoped Alexis wasn't one to sweat under pressure. Whatever other accoutrements they might have assembled given more time were simply irrelevant, as they'd already lost nearly an hour of their precious four-hour window.

"But to be honest," Alexis said, turning away from the mirror, "what's going to make the difference is that I am, quite simply, very, very good at this." He said it without arrogance, though there was, perhaps, a hint of pride detectable in his tone. He said it as one stated a fact, and Miles knew it to be true. Alexis had spent four years on Jackson's Whole as a deep cover agent, and he'd never even come close to being discovered until Gregor had ordered them to find the antidote for Miles at any cost. "Please trust me in this, my lord."

"I do," Miles said, oddly moved.

"Thank you," Alexis said, and checked his chrono. "Time will be the defining factor, I'm afraid." He held the door open for Miles, and they headed down toward the shuttlebay.

It had been seven hours now since Miles said goodbye to Quinn. That would be close; if Cavilo discovered their scheme, which she must be expecting, and gave orders to wipe out the Dendarii before Quinn was able to take them back, things could get ugly. But sending that message would take time as well, Miles reminded himself, and if they succeeded it would never be sent at all.

"Captain Avalos," Galeni said, as he met them at the shuttlebay. "My Lord Consort. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Miles said, glancing toward Alexis, who nodded. "We are."

The shuttle trip downside took much too long for Miles's liking. The Countess kept glancing at her chrono as well, as the minutes of Cavilo's four hour window slipped by. Galeni, piloting the shuttle himself, seemed equally on edge, and even Gregor's private physician, accompanying them downside "just in case," seemed nervous.

Only Alexis was calm. Except, Miles thought, watching his assistant as subtly as possible out the corner of his eye, for a certain eagerness in his eyes.

ImpSec Komarr in Solstice had its own shuttleport. They piled out together into the fading twilight of mirror-set and were met by a Captain Vorlannis, who showed Miles, his mother, and Galeni to a room with a dizzying number of monitors before taking Alexis to be outfitting with the comm equipment he would wear throughout the mission. The Countess settled herself in a chair while Galeni went about booting up the comconsole and programming it to receive Alexis's transmissions over a secure frequency. Miles paced until at last the meaningless fall of numbers over the holovid screen ceased and a grainy, black and white picture of Vorlannis and what seemed to be a hallway appeared. The quality of the sound, provided by a tiny microphone hidden on Alexis's person, was better than that of the vid.

"Do we have direct communication with him?" Miles asked.

Galeni glanced at him. "Yes, we do, but I'd advise again using it unless it's absolutely necessary. If we don't trust his judgment enough to let him make decisions, then we quite frankly shouldn't be sending him."

"I do trust his judgment," Miles protested, then subsided. His hands twitched only a little as he sank into the chair next to his mother's, one eye on the vidplate and one eye on the clock. Alexis was moving now, down into the bowels of the building, where Captain Vorlannis showed him to a gray, badly lit tunnel.

"It's different from the one the other agents used," Vorlannis told Alexis. "We're not sure if Cavilo's agents have discovered the other one or not, but there are several tunnels not on the blueprints, both without and within the residence, and it's not worth the risk to use the same one twice. This one will land you in a little-used bathroom in the servants' quarters. We believe that Cavilo is keeping several prisoners there, including the Counselor and General Allegre. The Emperor and Count Vorkosigan are three floors up and in the other wing."

"What about Cavilo?" asked Alexis's disembodied voice, which came through rather clearer than Vorlannis's.

"We suspect she's in the master bedroom, four floors up and in the other wing. Here's a copy of the blueprints. I would advise you to avoid talking to anyone. Remember, your objective is to disable the humanoids if you can. Let us worry about the Emperor and Count Vorkosigan."

The picture wavered as Alexis nodded. "Wait on my signal, then send everyone in. Not a moment earlier, no matter what."

"Erm," the captain said, frowning. "What signal would that be, exactly?"

"I don't know quite yet," Alexis said, sounding almost gleeful. Miles couldn't see his face, but whatever Vorlannis saw there obviously had him spooked. "I would guess that it'll be somewhere along the lines, 'Now, now, do it now!' Or perhaps I'll just blow something up. Depends on what's at hand."

"I see," the Captain said uneasily. "Well then. Good luck."

"Thank you." Alexis turned away and started down the tunnel at what seemed an easy, loping jog. It went on beneath half the city and Miles watched the clock, the minutes ticking away. Vorlannis reappeared in the control room, along with several other agents, and Miles was forced to cede the area nearest the monitors to them. He and his mother stood well back, where they wouldn't be in the way. She reached over to grip his arm, and he covered her hand with his own.

Nearly fifteen minutes passed before the tunnel came to an end and Alexis was faced with a smooth gray door. He paused, listened, and carefully pressed it open.

The room was empty. So was the hallway just beyond it. Miles let himself breathe, temporarily at least, as Alexis found a servants' staircase and checked the blueprints, pointing to the clearly labeled _Master Bedroom_ for the benefit of those watching. Miles found himself nodding. It was where he would have tried first as well.

Four flights up staircases that were little more than ladders until they finally ended in a door. Miles could see the tip of Alexis's stunner as he pulled it out; his only advantage would be the element of surprise. Could the humanoids even be surprised, Miles wondered, or did they simply react? To what extent would human reasoning and tactics be valid in relation to them? Impossible to say, and he suspected they were about to find out the hard way. Or perhaps they'd get lucky and Cavilo would be alone and vulnerable – as vulnerable as she ever was, at least.

To Miles's disappointment, the room was empty. Alexis performed a quick but thorough search, presumably looking for anything that might help them take control of the humanoids, but turned up nothing. Not unexpected, but it would have made the mission short and easy. Most likely it was on Cavilo's own person, and he would have to find and disable her before he could gain access to it.

Back into the servants' staircase and down. Alexis ventured out into the palace proper via a hallway that ended two doors to his right in a dead end and stretched to his left and out of sight around a bend. He holstered his stunner and set off, glancing side to side, taking in each closed door. If Allegre and Inceri were being held here, Miles thought, it wasn't in these rooms. The corridor was much too deserted.

In fact Alexis encountered no one until after he'd turned the corner, when a nervous-seeming maidservant came around the next corner at the same time. She startled and ducked her head, staring at the ground as she scurried by him. Miles exchanged a tentatively hopeful nod with Galeni; it seemed Alexis would pass, at least at first glance. Just beyond her was the first real test – a pair of humanoids stationed outside a rather intriguing closed door. They didn't seem to notice anything amiss, their eyes sliding over Alexis with only the barest of acknowledgments. They made no move to obstruct him as he continued.

There were more humanoids in the foyer. Alexis passed through them without so much as a ripple. They had come to the consensus earlier that if he didn't find Cavilo immediately, he'd search the house methodically from bottom to top, but as Miles watched, he took the broad, sweeping main staircase up, past the second floor and onto the third.

"What's he doing?" Galeni asked.

Miles frowned for a moment, and then grinned. "Exactly what I would have done. He's gambling that Cavilo is with Gregor and my father, gloating. And I would bet my Auditor's chain that he's right."

"And if she's not?" Galeni hissed, going suddenly white about the lips. "We decided – all of us – if she's not there he'll get himself shot like the first group! He'll probably get himself shot even if she is!"

"Maybe," Miles said, watching in satisfaction as Alexis pulled his stunner and stunned two humanoids in one smooth motion. They dropped; two more down the hall turned at the sound and were down only seconds later. "But I don't think so. And even if she isn't – I'm sure he has a plan. Or plenty of confidence in his improvisational skills." At Alexis's age, plans had been luxuries Miles could only occasionally afford, and he didn't remember them being all that useful when he could. Highly overrated, plans were, from a covert ops perspective at least, but he doubted Galeni would agree.

Alexis took the hallway at a run and let off a shot from the hip that brought down one of the humanoids outside the door to Gregor's suite, but left the other one standing and ready. There was a confused blur then, a great deal of jostling to the camera, a grunt of pain and some muffled swearing, and the second humanoid slid to the ground, blood running grotesquely from its nose. Alexis stunned it for good measure, punched open the door, and then turned to fire several covering shots down the corridor. Miles cringed, waiting for the black screen that would indicate he'd been stunned – or worse – by Cavilo, who must have been put on the alert by all the commotion in the hallway. But it didn't come. Instead when Alexis turned, there was Gregor and the Count and . . . no one else.

Alexis swore colorfully. "Sorry, Sire," he added quickly.

"Who – what – ?" Gregor began confusedly.

"Captain Avalos!" the Count said. "Is that you?"

"Yes, sorry, the disguise, I almost forgot – we have to hurry."

"What are you doing here?" Gregor asked. "Is Miles with you?"

"No, he's at Solstice HQ," Alexis said as he stepped into the bathroom and back out again. "He's watching though. She's not here, is she?"

"You mean Cavilo?" the Count said. "No. She left few minutes ago."

"What do you mean, he's watching?" Gregor asked. "He's all right then? And the Countess?"

"They're fine. Damn, I was betting on her being here – never mind."

"Speaking of watching," the Count said, casting a quick look around, "I'm sure she is too. I don't how many vid-recorders she has in here, but I doubt we can piss without her knowing what color it is."

"I'm sure you're right. This way." He stepped into the alcove, similar to the one in the master bedroom. The vid-pickup was too grainy for Miles to make out the well-concealed servants' door, but Alexis seemed to know exactly what he was doing as he felt along the wall. "Stand back please, Sire, Count Vorkosigan."

He pulled his plasma arc and a jet of fire – visible only as grey-white brightness to Miles's eye – hit the wall and ate straight through it. "Go, go!" he hissed, even as the door to the suite started to slide open. Alexis leapt through the still smoking hole just after them. "Keep _going_!" he added. "And try to get 'round a corner if you can." He pulled his stunner out, buggered the cartridge expertly and efficiently, waited for a beat or two while several humanoids burst into the room beyond, and threw the cartridge through. He had time enough to go three steps before the blast, muffled to a reasonable level for Miles's ears but undoubtedly deafening from where Alexis stood, lifted him off his feet and landed him on his side halfway down the hallway. There were a few seconds of blackness, while Miles held his breath and hoped the impact hadn't knocked him out, and then he blinked his eyes open to reveal Gregor crouching above him.

"Are you all right?" Gregor asked. Alexis seemed to shake his head – mostly, Miles suspected, to try and clear his ears. He knew from personal experience that it wouldn't work.

The vid-pickup swiveled as Alexis looked back the way they'd come, and both he and Miles breathed a long sigh of relief – the entrance to their suite was a pile of rubble with a cloud of dust just beginning to settle. It looked as though the explosion had filled in most of the alcove, and though there was a little area clear at the top, it was not enough for anyone to take aim and fire accurately. And, if Miles wasn't mistaken, there were also billowing clouds of smoke from the plasma fire. It would buy them some time, that was all, but Miles let the corners of his mouth curl up in satisfaction.

Gregor helped Alexis stand. "Thank you, Sire," Alexis said. "You and the Count – they'll expect you to go down, they must know that's how I got in, so you should go up. There's a rooftop exit on the fourth floor of the south wing. Here, take the blueprints. Captain Vorlannis," Alexis added. "Do you copy?"

Vorlannis reached over and activated the com. "Yes, Captain. We can have a team on the roof of the residence in four minutes. Go," he added over his shoulder to an ensign, who turned and bolted out of the room.

"Thank you, sir," Alexis said, and turned back to Gregor and the Count. "ImpSec will evacuate you from the roof in approximately four minutes. I'm sorry it's not faster, but this wasn't quite according to plan. Here, take my stunner."

"Won't that leave you without one?" the Count asked.

"I brought four – I thought that cartridge trick might come in handy. And you need a weapon."

Gregor took it. "What about you?".

"I have to find Cavilo still – and Allegre, Inceri, and Counselor Vorhallis are being held on the first floor, we believe."

Gregor caught his arm. "We can help."

Alexis shook his head. "With all due respect, Sire, the best way you can help is by getting yourself safely to the roof and out of this building. Anything else, and I think my Lord Consort would have my head, not to mention the Countess."

Gregor nodded, almost smiled. "Good luck."

"You as well, Sire, Count Vorkosigan. Now, please, go!"

Gregor and the Count turned and took the first staircase that led up. Alexis waited until their booted feet had disappeared, and then a few seconds beyond that, listening for signs that they'd been discovered. When none came, he started back down. Miles became aware suddenly that he was watching hunched over in his seat, every muscle in his neck and back tensed and waiting for the inevitable disaster. He straightened up slowly, rolled his shoulders, and winced at the popping noises.

"Knew I chose him for a reason," Miles said, as cheerfully as he was able into the utter silence of the room. The Countess gave a quiet sigh of relief and loosened her grip on Miles's arm.

"It would probably lengthen my life by about twenty years if we were to lock both of you up in the mental institution where you most certainly belong," Galeni replied.

*~*~*

 

"Which way?"

Gregor held the blueprints out in front of him and then glanced up. "To the right," he said in a hushed voice, almost a whisper. He checked it once more and then nodded before rolling them back up. "Yes, and there should be more stairs – here." He handed the stunner over to the Count and let him go first. Gregor waited, one hand resting on the stairs and the other pointing the stunner back the way they'd come. When Aral was halfway up, he started up himself, the back of his neck itching the whole time. He breathed a sigh of relief as his head cleared the top and he saw that passageway before them was empty.

"Almost there?" the Count asked breathlessly.

"I think so," Gregor said, consulting the blueprints again just to be sure. His step quickened now that they were so close. "I can't believe Miles stayed behind," he said, not caring how incongruous that sounded to Aral.

"Disappointed?"

"No," Gregor said, with perfect honesty. "I'm thrilled."

"You weren't hoping he'd come bursting in with a rescue squad?" the Count asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gregor frowned. "A bit, I suppose, if I'm perfectly honest with myself, but mostly no. I don't know if you'd noticed, but things had been rather chilly between us since we came downside."

"I think everyone had noticed."

"Right," Gregor said, uncomfortably. And they thought they'd done so well thus far at keeping any marital difficulties within the marriage. "Well, suffice it to say I was worrying about his ability to adjust to the new lifestyle all of this is going to require of him."

Aral nodded. "I see. Well, sending Alexis shows an new penchant for delegation that should please you."

"I know. I wonder if he's trying to prove something to me." Or to himself, possibly. They would have to have a long talk when all of this was over.

"He's learning," the Count said as they came to the set of stairs that, according to the blueprints would be the second to last. "He's not always very fast, especially when it's something he doesn't particularly want to learn, but he gets there eventually."

"I had wondered," Gregor said, and left it at that. The Count shoved the stunner into his pocket and started up, hand over hand. The corridor was still clear and there were no sounds of pursuit – they might just get out of this without any more problems, barring probable guards on the roof. But ImpSec would have taken care of those already, Gregor hoped. The back of his neck still itched as he climbed, but not quite as badly.

Which was why he should not have been nearly as surprised as he was when his head cleared the top and he found a nerve disruptor pointed squarely between his eyes.

"So _close_," Cavilo commented, and stepped back so he could climb out the rest of the way. Gregor realized she actually had a nerve disruptor in each hand, one trained on the Count and one on him. "But you didn't really expect to get away so easily, did you? I mean, how stupid do you think I am?"

"Not stupid," Gregor growled. "Just crazy."

"Well, so's your sweetie. Apparently that's how you like your lovers. Not sure what that says about _you_."

"You were never my lover." A lie, of sorts, Gregor had to admit to himself, but damned if he was going to let her lay claim to him that way.

She shrugged. "I suppose that is up to interpretation. Now, come along, both of you. We're going to go find that nice, earnest young man who thought he could actually come in here without my knowing. Not that he didn't do a very good job," she added. "He was much smoother than those four louts they sent the first time." She prodded them along the hallway until they emerged into what seemed to be an attic – or at least some storage space, cluttered with discarded furniture and defunct comconsoles no one had seen fit to throw out. "But I was one step ahead of him from the moment he entered the palace."

"You're bluffing," Gregor said.

She smiled sweetly. "Am I? You can think so if it makes you feel better. Ah, good, there you are," she said, as the door at the far end of the attic opened to reveal three of her semi-human guards. "Whichever ones you are. I'd introduce you," she added to Gregor and the Count, "but they don't really have names. You," she said, gesturing to the lighter-haired one on the right, "take charge of him," she indicated Gregor with an imperious jerk of her head, "and you take the old man." She settled into a relaxed pose as the guards took over. They searched them both briefly and, to Gregor's dismay, found the stunner the Count had shoved into his pocket.

"Ma'am," the darker one said, holding it up.

"Ah, very good," she said, taking it for herself. She smiled at Gregor and the Count. "Now see, that might have been a problem." She looked back to the two guards. "What is the intruder's location?"

One of the guards frowned, his – its? – eyes going a little unfocused. "Second floor, ma'am, moving down."

"Ah. How sadly predictable. Very well, no use taking unnecessary risks. Tell the others to take him, please." Just how they were to tell them, Gregor wasn't sure. He didn't see earpieces or communication devices of any kind, and the guards' lips never even moved. "Is the fire on the third floor under control?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. It wasn't at all smart for him to use his plasma arc like that," Cavilo added to Gregor. "One of you could have gotten hurt." She turned and led them out of the attic and down the stairs. Gregor eyed the stunner shoved in the back of her pants, but then his guard's grip on his arm tightened as though he somehow knew exactly what Gregor was thinking. He'd wait, he decided. A better opportunity might yet come along.

But just because brute force wasn't an option didn't mean he couldn't try some old-fashioned prying for information. Gregor might not have been as smooth at it as Miles was, but that didn't mean he wouldn't learn something. And even if he didn't it would distract her; distraction meant more time, and the more time went by the more likely the ImpSec agents waiting for them on the roof would realize they weren't coming. He decided to start with the basics, inane as they might sound. "Where are you taking us?"

"Down," she replied. "More than that, I don't really think you need to know."

More questions received even fewer answers. By the time they reached the ground floor, Gregor had given up. Cavilo paused at the bottom of the stairs as several more of the semi-humans appeared, apparently presenting themselves for her use. She glanced sideways at Gregor and the Count, as though considering her options. "Hmm," she said, shifting her gaze back to the guards "Yes. Bring the intruder to my study."

"Ma'am," one of them said, "there is no intruder currently present within parameters."

She stared at it. "What are you talking about? Of course there is. Five minutes ago he was 'on the second floor, moving down.' He can't have disappeared."

"There is no intruder currently present within parameters," it repeated stubbornly.

"Well," Cavilo said, putting her hands on her hips, "that is annoying. No matter though, he has to show up sometime. We'll just be ready to welcome him when he does. Is there anything else to report?"

"An aircar on the roof," the guard said. "ImpSec. Agents appear to be preparing to the breach the palace."

Cavilo let out a long breath. "Now, that is the kind of thing you want to tell me _sooner_, do you understand?"

"Ma'am."

"I assume the aircar was for you?" she said to Gregor and the Count. Neither of them answered. "I want squads of five agents to all roof top entrances," she ordered. "Kill them."

Gregor watched the guards leave and turned to Cavilo with a sympathetic smile. "Still some bugs to work out, I see."

"They don't prioritize well," Cavilo admitted. "But at least there isn't any backchat."

"Subordinates who think for themselves are so very annoying," the Count agreed blandly.

"Indeed," Cavilo said. "Move along." The guards herded them down the hall and into a room that, from the thousands of book discs lining the walls, Gregor assumed served the Counselor as a library and study. "Please, take a seat," Cavilo said, gesturing grandly toward the Komarran style sofa. The two guards took up position just behind them, nerve disruptors an uncomfortable three feet from the backs of their heads. "I just have to send a quick message."

"To Miles?" Gregor asked.

"Of course not," she laughed, and swiveled playfully around in the chair to face them. "You keep taking me for an idiot. No, this is to my subordinate with the Dendarii. It really was stupid of them to try to rescue you. Have you ever seen a body that's been subject to decompression? No, I imagine you haven't. Well, let me tell you, it's ugly. I'm very glad I'm not going to be the one cleaning _that_ up."

Gregor swallowed and looked towards the Count, who seemed to draw himself up, every inch the former admiral, aged but no less impressive for it. More impressive even. "They've done nothing to you," the Count said. "They aren't even really part of your plan."

"If I were you, I would not presume to know any part of my plan," she snapped, and then shrugged, irritation vanishing like water turned to steam. "In this case, you're right. That was mostly for fun and because I knew it would screw with Vorkosigan's head. And I really did think they'd serve well as leverage. But idle threats are useless. Fail to follow through on just one and no one will take you seriously ever again. So I never make them." She started to swivel back around and then paused, lifting one perfectly manicured finger. "You should keep that in mind next time you assume I'm bluffing."

She sent the message – to a ship in orbit, Gregor assumed, since the regular channels would of course be closed to her. Once through the wormhole it would be out of the bounds of the Empire, and could be tightbeamed at will. Gregor rubbed the bridge of his nose, then the back of his neck. He was feeling less and less optimistic that an opportunity for escape would ever present itself – or that he'd recognize it even if it did. Miles would have, he was sure, but he didn't have ten years of covert ops experience and a beautifully twisted mind at his disposal.

Her message sent, Cavilo prodded them back down the way they'd come, through the foyer – where a number of the semi-human guards were coming and going – and down another hallway. The furnishings became plainer and plainer; they passed several rooms with guards, and Gregor remembered Alexis's remark that he believed Allegre, Inceri, and the Counselor were being held down here. At the very end of the hallway, she opened a door and gestured them inside.

The room was tiny, with a narrow bed and a beaten chest of drawers, sporting the ugliest lamp Gregor had ever seen, barring the one Miles had brought him back from Komarr that one time. Gregor would not have trusted the chair enough to sit on. He raised an ironic eyebrow at Cavilo, who laughed at him. "I am sorry, Greg, darling. I realize that this is not quite what you're accustomed to. But what else am I to do? You've quite spoiled things for yourself, trying to escape and all. Don't worry, though. In less than half an hour, I'm going to shoot you both in the head with a nerve disruptor and after that I'm sure you won't care about the furnishings."

"And will we have the pleasure of your company for the remainder of our allotted span?" Gregor asked.

"You wish. I, unfortunately, have much to do before then." She turned to go, and then swung back on her heel, gesturing casually with her nerve disruptor. "I suppose it goes without saying – but don't try anything. I have this whole _thing_ planned, and I'd be disappointed if I had to shoot you any sooner – or if someone else got to do it. That would definitely piss me off. So don't."

The guards left as well, to stand outside. Once they were alone, the Count let out a long breath and sat on the edge of the cot, hands resting on his knees. "Well."

"Quite."

"I must be more old-fashioned than I thought," Aral commented. "I don't know if I ever took her seriously until just now."

"I did," Gregor said lowly. "But I thought – she's taken the building, she hasn't taken the planet. She hasn't even taken the city. I really thought ImpSec would come through. Except they might not. Probably won't, I have to say at this point."

"Those guards of hers are tuned into the house, somehow. Or each other," the Count said.

"I noticed."

"We could make a break for it," the Count said, watching him.

"And get killed sooner." Gregor paused. "Maybe if it comes down to it, and no one's come. If there's no other choice. But I don't trust myself against the reflexes of those guards."

"I certainly don't either." The Count stopped, crossed his arms over his stocky chest. "Gregor, I want you to promise me that you won't do something stupid to save me. I'm almost eighty years old. I've done what I need to do. If she's going to shoot one of us, it should be me."

"Aral –" Gregor began.

"No. Just give me your word."

"I can't."

"You must. I can't be worrying about you doing something idiotically heroic. That's my right as Vorkosigan."

Gregor swallowed. "Miles would –"

"Understand. And I don't want to think about the look on his face if I came back without you."

"Aral –"

"Just give me your word, boy."

"I give my word as Vorbarra," Gregor said, dully.

The Count nodded, satisfied. Gregor reflected that he was right about one thing: Vorkosigans had been laying down their lives for the sake of Vorbarras for generations. A bloody, godforsaken tradition Gregor had hoped to see the end of, but Miles would forgive Gregor if he came back without Aral, would likely echo the Count's own words: "It was his right as Vorkosigan."

Then again, in some ways Miles was far more traditional than Gregor was himself. Miles would forgive him. Gregor would not.


	9. Chapter 9

The vidplate was dark and fuzzy. Miles might have thought they'd lost contact with Alexis, except for the heavy sound of his breathing, audible through the microphone. After leaving Gregor and the Count, he had headed downwards into the bowels of the palace, eventually dropping into one of the tunnels not on the blueprints, apparently intent on completing – and exceeding – his mission parameters. He'd come within a hair's breath of being caught there at the end, actually, but once he'd entered the tunnel his humanoid pursuers hadn't followed.

Miles was too busy keeping one eye on the clock to wonder about this. Four minutes, Vorhallan had promised, but after nearly ten minutes ago no word had come in from the ImpSec agents sent to rendezvous with his father and Gregor on the roof of the palace. There might have been a perfectly reasonable explanation; it might have taken the two of them longer than four minutes to reach the roof, after all. But the creeping nausea in Miles's gut said otherwise.

"My Lord Consort," Vorlannis said suddenly, and with such grimness that Miles knew his gut had been right.

"What's gone wrong?" he asked.

"The humanoids discovered the agents on the rooftop, my lord."

"Discovered?" Miles repeated, with a lift of an eyebrow. "Or did they know they were there?"

"Impossible to say for sure, but the preliminary reports indicate an ambush."

Miles swore; the Countess's hand on his arm clenched. That meant, most likely, that Gregor and his father were back in Cavilo's hot little hands. "Anyone down?"

"None of ours. Three of hers," Vorlannis said with dark satisfaction.

"We have to let Alexis know," Miles said, standing. "She's not going to waste any time now. He needs to change his objective altogether and concentrate on getting them out, with Allegre and Inceri and Counselor Vorhallis if he can. Alexis," he added, speaking into the com now. "Do you copy?"

"Yes, m'lord. Did the rendezvous succeed?"

"Not quite. It appears Gregor and my father were discovered sometime before making it to the roof." Alexis swore. "Quite. I think we might have to do this with a little less, er, finesse than we originally planned."

"I see, m'lord. Do you have a fix on the Emperor and Count Vorkosigan's screamers?"

Galeni checked a side panel. "Assuming they're still wearing them," he said to Miles, "they're on the first floor in the south wing – not far from where we believe Allegre, Inceri, and the Counselor are being kept, and quite near where Lieutenant Avalos entered the palace."

"They're together?"

"It appears so. The screamers are, at least."

Miles gnawed on his lip. "Let's assume they're wearing them," he said at last; he didn't like to think about what might happen if they weren't, but it was all they had to go on. He relayed the information to Alexis, who nodded, jostling the vid-pickup. "I'm going to have Vorlannis send a team in," he added. "See if you can create some chaos to cover them without endangering Gregor or my father. And then get out as quickly as possible."

"Yes, m'lord. Avalos out."

"M'lord, do you intend what I think you do?" Galeni asked, eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"Only if you think I intend to blow up the Counselor's Palace," Miles replied with a grim smile.

"An inherent cultural passion," the Countess muttered dryly, "for things that go _boom_."

"Well, it does cut straight to the point," Miles said reasonably. "And this game of cat and mouse is beginning to wear on my nerves. Captain Vorlannis, I'd like you to send a team in to plant a bomb where they think it will do the maximum amount of damage to Cavilo without hurting Gregor and my father."

"Yes, m'lord," Vorlannis said.

He relayed the orders and Miles turned his attention back to the vidplate, which brightened suddenly as Alexis emerged from the darkened tunnel into a hallway that looked very like the one he'd passed through when he'd first entered the palace. A humanoid turned the corner ahead of him and Alexis dropped him without fuss. He took off down the hallway at a loping jog, stunning three oncoming humanoids in quick succession, then took a quick right, heading north, away from Gregor and the Count. A whole pack of the humanoids rounded the corner ahead of him, intent and unsurprised, and Alexis stopped suddenly. Miles held his breath; he couldn't see what Alexis was doing, but there was a sudden burst of bright fire, followed by two more.

"Fired his plasma arc," Galeni muttered beside him.

"That would be the distraction," Miles said. On the vidplate Miles could see that Alexis was running full tilt back down the hallway. He ducked into one of the unguarded rooms and spent several frantic moments searching the molding of the wallpaper for the hidden seam that would give him access to the hidden passageways behind the house. Miles could hear shouting in the background – it seemed Alexis had indeed succeeded in creating chaos enough to cover himself. Plasma fire was notoriously difficult to control. A bomb might be redundant at this point, Miles reflected, but better safe than sorry.

The hidden doorway swung open in front of Alexis at last. He stepped inside and the door swung shut, abruptly shutting off all sound and leaving him in darkness. He cracked a coldlight and set off. There were entrances to all the ground floor rooms here, and Miles heard him counting under his breath until he reached the twelfth one. He wasn't far from Gregor and the Count, Miles thought, checking his location against the coordinates of the screamers, but not quite there yet.

"Smart," Galeni said. "He's going for Allegre and Inceri and the Counselor first, thinking maybe they can help get the Emperor and Count Vorkosigan out safely."

"I wouldn't count on it," the Countess said. "Unless she's been too distracted to keep them stunned."

The scene on the vidplate made answering unnecessary. Alexis cracked the door open carefully, and when there was no outcry, pushed it open the rest of the way, revealing all three men sprawled unmoving about the room – dead or unconscious, it was simply impossible to tell. Miles held his breath while Alexis checked their vitals. "Alive," he reported at last. "I'll give them shots of synergine, but Vorlannis's team is going to have to retrieve them."

Miles watched as Alexis administered the synergine injections quickly, and then dragged each unconscious man into the passage before sealing up the door once more, using his plasma arc on its lowest setting to meld it shut so it would be impossible to open again. "That should buy us a bit more time," he muttered, "but damn, I was hoping to have some help with this next part."

With one last glance down at the unconscious men, Alexis took off down the passage, counting doors again – five more and he stopped, glanced swiftly over his shoulder, and pushed it open to reveal Gregor and the Count, as well as a very disheveled, but rabidly pleased Cavilo, holding a nerve disruptor to Gregor's head.

"Well, well, well," she said, smiling, her eyes widening only slightly as she took in Alexis emerging from the wall. "So kind of you to stop by. I was hoping you would, after the pretty mess you made of my palace. Do come in."

Gregor gave Alexis the barest of nods and Alexis stepped into the room. "The game's over, Cavilo," Alexis said. "You know it is."

"I know no such thing," she replied, "and neither do you. Sit there," she added, gesturing to the bed, "hands under your ass." She waited until he had done so and then said, "I admit, this is not exactly how I'd planned it, but nevertheless, it will do quite splendidly. I assume Vorkosigan is watching? Good," she continued, not waiting for Alexis to reply. She smiled, a look of savage satisfaction. "Then he can see me blow his husband's head off."

Where were her guards? Miles wondered suddenly. "Duv," he said urgently, "her guards –"

"Probably trying to contain the fire," Vorlannis said. "Sensors inside the palace indicate that it's spreading rapidly."

"Have they planted the bomb yet?"

"No, they need another five minutes just to get there, much less plant it." Vorlannis shook his head. "It won't go off in time to distract her. And I'm worried about the fire – we've determined the best point at which to plant the bomb, but at the rate the fire is spreading it might not be possible."

Miles stared up at the vidplate where Cavilo was, apparently, savoring the moment, and then lunged forward and keyed himself through. "Alexis, give her the microphone, tell her I want to plead for Gregor's life."

"My lord," Galeni hissed.

"It will buy us time," Miles hissed back. "This is what she wants. Every minute I keep her talking is a minute she isn't shooting Gregor or my father."

On the vidplate Cavilo was smiling widely and holding her hand out to accept the microphone. "Hello, Lord Vorkosigan," she said smoothly. "Is this the part where you tell me that I don't really want to do this?"

"No," Miles said. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you do want to do it."

"And you would be right. So shall we just give this charade up right now?"

"No! No, Cavilo, I'm telling you, if you shoot them, it's all over – for you, for Bharaputra, everything. You won't make it out of that building alive, with or without your guards. A pleasure dome on Mars isn't very useful if you're dead. Have you thought –"

"Oh, do shut up," Cavilo said, cutting him off. "Really, Vorkosigan, this is tedious in the extreme. I was promised pleading at the very least." She smiled brightly, expectantly.

Miles swallowed. "Cavilo, please don't do this. We showed you mercy fifteen years ago –"

Her smile melted away into fury. "Mercy?" she hissed, eyes flashing. "You call that mercy? I was _hunted_ for a decade. So if it's mercy you're after, Vorkosigan, than you've come begging at the wrong doorstep, because I have none."

"Cavilo," Miles said, hardly having to fake the note of desperation in his voice at all, "we could have killed you and we didn't. We could have thrown you in prison and we didn't. Please."

"You could have and you didn't and that was stupid. Really, Vorkosigan, I remember you being better at kissing ass than this. I am, as you probably expected, unmoved. And furthermore, I am done here. Good-bye."

There was a bright flash of stunnerfire and the vidplate went black.

*~*~*

 

Gregor saw it coming the second before it happened as Cavilo raised her stunner. "No!" he shouted, and Alexis threw himself to the side. Not fast enough, or perhaps she'd been anticipating it, because he crumpled unconscious to the floor. Gregor could see Alexis's stunner in its holster on his belt; it was just four feet away from the Count, and Gregor could see him eyeing it too. If he could just distract Cavilo for a few seconds . . .

Cavilo made a noise of satisfaction and holstered her stunner again, looping her arm through Gregor's as though they were on a pleasant stroll, then nestling the bell of her nerve disruptor against his temple. "I have to say, that was less entertaining than I thought it would be. Vorkosigan doesn't beg very well, does he?"

"Not that I've ever seen, no," Gregor said grimly.

"Ah well. We all have our talents. A pity for you that his failed so utterly tonight. You could try begging."

"I'm not that desperate."

"No? You should be."

He slid his eyes sideways, trying to catch her eye. "There are things that frighten me greatly, Cavilo. Plain old-fashioned dying isn't one of them."

She turned her head to look at him, close enough to kiss, and for a second he thought she might. She looked frankly puzzled, and Gregor thought that it was possible he'd struck a nerve; dying might not make his list of most frightening things, but he was certain that, all bravado aside, it made hers. He wondered what else Bharaputra had promised her besides a pleasure dome on Mars – not all that difficult to obtain, really – and thought that just possibly there was a little Cavilo clone, blonde and blue-eyed and maybe even sweet, growing up in one of the Baron's crèches. He suppressed a shiver.

"No," Cavilo said at last. "I suppose that if I really wanted to scare you, I shouldn't have let Vorkosigan slip through my fingers. Well," she added on a sigh. "C'est la vie."

"Indeed," Gregor replied ironically.

"In any case, Greg, that's enough chitchat. I have to assume that your dear husband was stalling for time, since he obviously knew he had no hope of ever convincing me to let you go, so I'm afraid, Greg darling, that we will just have to get mov –"

"No."

It was the Count. He hadn't gone for the stunner at all, Gregor saw, but for Alexi's nerve disruptor, now trained unflinchingly on Cavilo. She stared for a minute and then smiled. "Gutsy," she said. "Very nice."

"Let him go."

She pretended to consider this. "Hmm. No. You can shoot me, old man, but not before I shoot him."

"I think you might be wrong about that."

"Care to bet your Emperor's life on it? Do you really think your reflexes are that good anym –"

There was a sudden roaring, a muffled but still deafening explosion. Everyone startled, and Cavilo jerked her nerve disruptor up towards the ceiling in pure reflex. It was the opening Gregor had been waiting for.

He twisted suddenly, pinning her arm behind her back and struggling with her for the disruptor. She let out a cry of outrage, and out of the corner of his eye Gregor saw Alexis roll smoothly to his feet, stunner in hand, but neither of them would be able to get off a shot at her without risk to Gregor as well. Gregor made a desperate lunge for the disruptor, but Cavilo managed to jerk away, tearing herself partly out Gregor's grasp. She twisted and brought the disruptor down on his head. It didn't knock him unconscious, but it did force him, reeling, to his hands and knees. When his head cleared he saw Alexis and the Count facing off with Cavilo, stunner and nerve disruptors trained unflinchingly on her, while she held the muzzle of her own disruptor to the nape of Gregor's neck.

He was getting very tired of having her disruptor held to his head.

"Nice trick," Cavilo said to Alexis. Gregor couldn't see her face, but he could see the slight waver of the gun. He held very still, aware that he was the only one still unarmed. He could sense Cavilo's nervousness and like most deadly creatures, it would likely only make her more dangerous.

"Thanks. I thought it was obvious."

"Do you mind if we skip the witty banter?" Cavilo asked, and then kneed Gregor in the back so hard he lost his breath. "Get up, Greg dearest. I have places to be and you're coming with me. Don't even think about it," she added when the Count twitched. "If I see you following, I'll fry his brain without a second thought."

She prodded Gregor out the door and into the corridor. It was like walking into a wall of heat and smoke; Gregor felt himself break out into a sweat immediately and breathing became difficult as his eyes started watering. He looked back over his shoulder but neither Alexis nor Aral had followed them. They must have decided to fall back and regroup; it was the sensible thing to do, after all.

He turned back to Cavilo, who was marching him along the hallway with a single-minded intensity. "If you had an ounce of sense you'd be getting out here right about now," he told her. "This place could go up at any moment."

"Spare me the advice," she snapped, casting a glance over her shoulder.

"In all seriousness, Cavilo, what's your plan now?" he asked. "You've lost control of the palace – you're trapped, as a matter of fact. You'll never leave here, not alive."

"Shut _up_," she hissed, turning suddenly and shoving him. His head, already aching from its collision with her nerve disruptor earlier, banged gracelessly into the wall. He saw stars and it was a few moments before his mind caught up with her voice. "You listen to me, you sad little lapdog of an Emperor. As long as I have you, I have a ticket out here. I don't care what you say, no one is going to let me shoot you." She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, shocking him with the compact strength of her small body. "Tell me I'm wrong." She didn't wait for a reply, but hauled him off the wall and shoved him down the corridor instead.

"Where are we going, then?" he managed past the splitting pain in his head.

"Up," she replied tersely.

_Up_, however, was not so simple. There were fires in several locations now, one that looked as though it'd been started by a plasma arc and another one from the bomb blast they'd heard just a few minutes ago. The heat was oppressive, and several hallways were entirely obscured by thick, choking smoke. Gregor grew dizzy and then disoriented; escape was an impossibility in these conditions, and he almost felt safer with her to guide him, ludicrous though he knew that was. Trying to find his own way out would be lethal.

By the time Cavilo finally stumbled upon a corridor that wasn't filled with smoke, Gregor had lost all sense of time and direction, and his head was swimming. She shoved him inside and then through a servants' door, where he found himself facing stairs like the ones he and the Count had climbed earlier in their escape attempt. Steep and narrow, they required all the attention he could manage. Once he reached the top he slumped against the wall while she glanced about, muttering to herself, nerve disruptor trained almost casually on him, Gregor wondered what awaited them on the roof. An aircar? A death squad? Bharaputra himself? He didn't think much would surprise him at this point.

"This way," she said, hauling him forward. He stumbled and she shoved him again. "Useless," she muttered furiously in his ear. "Damned if I know why they think you're so valuable. Not like Vorkosigan couldn't run your stupid little empire just fine on his own, better even, I bet."

He started to retort – and then thought better of it. Instead he stumbled into the wall with a groan, earning himself another shove.

"Stop, please, m'head," he mumbled thickly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, don't faint. I wouldn't want to have to leave you here."

"You wouldn't," Gregor said, trying to slur his words as much as possible. "I'm your – ticket –"

"Not if you slow me down, you're not," she said as they arrived at the next set of stairs and she prodded him up it with ruthless jabs of the nerve disruptor. "Don't know if you've noticed, what with the sudden brain damage and all, but this building's coming down around our ears."

Too true, Gregor thought as he climbed. The fires were obviously well out of control now, and the building was making ominous creaking noises. It was an older building, constructed well before the conquest, perhaps even before the wormhole to Barrayar had opened, and it was clearly on the verge of collapse. Gregor wasn't sure _up_ was really the best direction to be moving, but he didn't really want to try and argue with the nerve disruptor. Cavilo seemed to be unraveling; that had been Gregor's goal all along but now that it was happening, he wasn't sure it would turn out in his favor.

Two more flights of steep, narrow stairs and Gregor found himself faced with a door onto the rooftop – exactly where he and Aral had tried to escape earlier before being thwarted by Cavilo and her thugs. Cavilo pushed him through it, disruptor held unwaveringly to his temple. Solstice dawns were usually still and cool, peaceful, but today the air was filled with smoke, the sky lit up from the fire that was gutting the building beneath their feet. The sound of sirens and ImpSec lightflyers circling overhead tore at Gregor's ears after the insulated silence of the palace, an ugly but infinitely welcome cacophony.

There was an aircar waiting, just as Gregor had anticipated. There were also two dozen ImpSec agents, led by Captain Galeni.

Cavilo did not seem nearly as concerned as she should have been. "I'll kill him," she called as they emerged onto the rooftop. "Just give me a reason, I'm dying to do it."

She pulled him over toward the aircar; the agents watched them, frozen, until finally Duv Galeni stepped forward from the center of the crowd and said, quietly, "Cavilo."

She paused; Gregor prepared himself to make his move, go for her wrist like he had earlier. "I suppose this is the part where you ask me to come along quietly?"

Galeni shook his head. "Hand him over, Cavilo. Hand him over and we'll let you go."

She laughed at him. "I'm supposed to believe that? I don't think so. Greg here is with me all the way, I'm afraid. Once I'm on a ship on the other side of the wormhole, _then_ I'll let him go. Maybe it'll even be in a bodpod. Or maybe not. How long can you hold your breath, Greg?" she asked him conversationally, her grip tightening painfully on his upper arm as she maneuvered him between her and the agents; they wouldn't be able to fire at her without running a serious risk of hitting him, and that was something no agent would be willing to do.

He'd have to risk it for them then.

Her nails dug into his arm as she pulled him back toward the aircar, her nerve disruptor still pointed at him steadily. He refused to move and ignored her hiss of irritation in favor of looking Duv Galeni straight in the eyes. "Commodore Galeni, I order you to stun us."

Galeni's eyes widened. Cavilo let out a noise of pure outrage and Gregor twisted, forcing her arm up just as she fired her disruptor; he could smell the charge from it, a deadly, burnt smell, and then there came a distant buzz.

And then there was nothing at all.

*~*~*

 

The ground beneath him was hot. Uncomfortably hot, Gregor realized as sensation slowly returned to his limbs. He stirred and felt someone lift his head to slip something underneath it. The hands lingered, smoothing his hair back, rubbing his temples. He winced as the headache kicked in with savage abruptness. He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the stunner migraine, which, while not as severe as his previous one, was still enough to make him wince.

"Miles?" he mumbled, and Miles's face swam into view overhead.

"Hey, right here, Gregor. All right?"

Gregor only nodded, unable to summon the words to reply adequately just at the moment. The heat of the building beneath them reminded him and he started to ask about the explosion, but then didn't. He thought he knew exactly who had been behind that anyway, and his rather limited energy was better saved for other things. "Your father?" he asked. "Alexis?"

"They're back at Solstice HQ, they're fine," Miles replied.

"Which is where we should be, Sire," Galeni added, crouched beside him. "We didn't want to move you until the synergine brought you around, but the palace is about to collapse."

"Right," Gregor said, nodding, and with Miles and Galeni's help, was able first to sit up and then, finally, to stand. He took a step toward the waiting groundcar and swayed suddenly. Galeni and Miles both jumped to grab him before he could fall.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Miles asked, steering him over carefully. Through vision gone suddenly blurry, Gregor saw two agents retrieving Cavilo's limp form and loading her into a different aircar.

"Yeah, just stunner migraine. And I might've got hit over the head," Gregor said, probing carefully at tender area at the base of his skull. He'd been faking the concussion symptoms – or so he'd thought. Now he wasn't so sure. "Do you happen to have any painkillers?"

"Not here," Miles said, squeezing his hand. "Back at HQ. Plus a nice, soft bed in the infirmary."

Gregor closed his eyes. "I'd say that wasn't necessary –"

"Don't," Miles advised. "I wouldn't believe you anyway."

The ground fell away suddenly as the aircar lifted off. Clutching Miles's hand, Gregor looked out the window, watching the flames consume the Counselor's palace. It was shockingly bright and obliterated the dawn. Soon they were too far away to see anything but billowing gray smoke and an occasional lick of orange flame, and Gregor turned away.


	10. Chapter 10

ImpSec HQ Komarr had an excellent infirmary with a staff that was well trained in emergency protocol and would have known exactly what to do in the case of an outbreak of a small ground war or large-scale terrorist attack. Miles had the impression, however, that they were slightly overwhelmed by the prospect of treating an Emperor with a bump on his head. There were about four times as many people in the room as necessary when Miles finally forced his way in, throwing a ruthless elbow at an anxiously hovering orderly when he didn't move fast enough. Fortunately for everyone involved, Gregor's private physician took one look around and ordered everybody out.

"Thank you," Gregor said with relief once the room had cleared. He was sitting up in one of the hospital beds, looking rather as though he'd been run over by a groundcar. While his physician set about examining him with reassuring briskness, he reached out and grasped Miles's hand. "How's your father? Have you heard about Allegre and the Counselor?"

"They're all fine," Miles said, grasping it back, grateful for the reassuring warmth and weight of it. "Mother's with Da now. She said they were going to check him over, probably give him something for his heart, more for their sake than for his. I talked to Duv a couple minutes ago and he said Allegre and the Counselor and Inceri are doing well enough, if a little worse for wear. How are you?"

"My head hurts," Gregor said, wincing as the doctor prodded at the ugly black and blue lump at the base of his skull. "Other than that, I'm fine. Really." His hand tightened on Miles's. "I'd like to see your father later, if I may."

"Of course. But not right now," Miles added hastily when the physician glanced up long enough to glower disapprovingly.

"Right," Gregor said, closing his eyes. He needed a handful of painkillers and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, Miles thought, and rubbed Gregor's shoulder soothingly. He opened his shadowed eyes and gave Miles a wan smile before asking, "Do you know where they took her?"

"One of the cells down below, I imagine," Miles said with a shrug. "She wasn't really my first priority, though, with your permission," he added, trying for diffident but ending up, he suspected, rather more in the vicinity of eager, "I'd like to have a few minutes with her."

"I figured as much. I'm not sure how much there is to get out of her."

"Hmm, yeah. But she might be able to tell us something about the Baron and his plans."

"Yes, that whole thing is worrying, isn't it?" Gregor said, frowning.

The doctor straightened up then, looking satisfied. He pronounced Gregor in need of rest but otherwise just fine, and gave him painkillers to swallow. Gregor took them obediently and asked if he could keep everyone else out of the room for a few minutes. The doctor bowed himself out.

Once he had left, the two of them looked at each other silently for a few minutes. Finally Miles levered himself up onto the bed, and Gregor's arm went around him, pulling him close. They kissed once, twice, and then Gregor leaned his head back against the pillow with a sound of relief. Miles sat up, drew Gregor's head into his lap, and gently rubbed circles over his temples. Gregor opened his eyes. "You see what it's like, then?" he asked softly, looking up at Miles.

Miles nodded, frowning, rubbed a thumb over a stubborn line across Gregor's forehead that he didn't remember being there before all this had happened. "It was – that moment when we got to the shuttle and Galeni told me you and Da were missing was horrible. It was nothing like the moment a mission goes wrong or, or anything else I ever experienced with the Dendarii. It was worse. I don't ever want to feel that again, you hear me?"

Gregor nodded. "That – that terror – is what I feel every time you pull a stunt on a case and Allegre comes in to tell me that you've slipped your protection." Miles looked away, discomfited, and Gregor reached up to gently turn his face back to look at him. "Miles, I was wrong before, I realize that, but do you see – can you understand now?"

"Yes," Miles said quietly.

"I thought for sure you'd do it, you know," Gregor continued, conversationally, and now it was his turn to look away, talking toward the ceiling. "I kept expecting you to come bursting in."

"I wanted to. Gregor, you have no idea how much I wanted to. But . . ." Miles stopped. "I thought that might be it for us if I did."

"I don't know," Gregor said, turning his head to look at him steadily. "I don't know, but I'm glad you didn't."

"I can't –" Miles broke off, gesturing helplessly, and had to stop for a minute before continuing. "There are some things I can't change about myself, Gregor. And there are some things I won't."

"I know."

"But there are other ways of doing things." Miles sighed. "It wasn't – I didn't like it. But I think I can maybe learn how to do it."

"I think you can do just about anything you want, if you have the mind to do it," Gregor said, quietly but with a confidence that made Miles want to be worthy of it. "It won't be comfortable at first, but really, situations like this one are extremely rare. I doubt you'll be put in a similar position any time soon."

"Let's hope not," Miles said. He carded his fingers through Gregor's hair. It was strange, he reflected, for their positions to be so reversed. Usually he was the one in the infirmary after these sorts of things. "God, I was scared."

Gregor reached up to grasp Miles's free hand. "Me too. And," he added on a sigh, closing his eyes, "it's not over, is it? We've still got the Baron and his army to deal with."

"Um," Miles said. "About that."

Gregor opened his eyes. "What? Miles, what did you do?"

"My mother had a brainwave. She pointed out while he's chosen to target us for the moment, a Jacksonian Baron with an army is really a menace to the whole galaxy."

"True."

"So, I, er, I took the liberty of sending out a few carefully worded messages to the Betan and Escobaran presidents, and to General Benin. Don't worry," he added, when Gregor, frowning, started to speak, "I didn't give any specifics on our current situation. But think about it, Gregor. Any one of us would be vulnerable, but if we were to form an alliance . . ."

"With Beta and Escobar, perhaps," Gregor said, reflectively. "But Cetaganda?"

Miles shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's time. Maybe it's the only thing that'll save the next generation from having to do it all over again. And if anyone will see the sense in this, it's Benin."

"Hmm."

Miles found himself wanting to sell this for reasons quite apart from the fact that if Gregor weren't sold, then they would have something of a problem, since he'd already gone and done it – which, in retrospect, might have been a bit hasty. "Mother pointed out that this was going to change the galaxy no matter what. But if we manage to think past the ends of our noses, we might be able to control the changes. And she said it was past time for a galactic alliance of some sort."

"Well," Gregor said, "perhaps she's right. She usually is, after all."

Miles, rather relieved, simply carded his fingers through Gregor's hair again and nodded. Gregor closed his eyes, wincing a little despite the painkillers he'd taken. Post-battle fatigue, Miles recognized, though he wasn't sure Gregor himself knew what to call the strange combination of exhaustion and letdown he was feeling. Probably the handful of pills had included a sedative. Miles would try to take care of things for a while, though he knew people would be clamoring to get in here the moment the door opened.

Speaking of things that needed to be taken care of, they'd have transferred Cavilo to a cell by now. Miles hesitated, unwilling to disturb Gregor, but practicalities won out in the end.

"Mmm," Gregor said, when Miles slid carefully off the bed. "Where are you going?"

"To see Cavilo," Miles replied, stroking Gregor's shoulder apologetically.

"Ah." Gregor rubbed his eyes. "I should see Galeni."

"In a couple hours." Miles kissed him lightly on the lips. "You'll feel better and think better if you sleep. I can handle things for now."

Gregor nodded gratefully, and by the time Miles had reached the infirmary door and glanced back, he looked to be asleep again. Miles was relieved to find the hallway beyond mostly empty, save for two ImpSec guards and a few anxiously hovering medical personnel. He forestalled everyone by saying that the Emperor was sleeping and they would just have to stumble on without him for a few hours, but he was sure they would all manage somehow. Miles escaped before they found a reason to examine _him_ as well and considered his options. He wanted to see Cavilo, but he rather thought his new, more cautious approach might necessitate taking someone with him. It was time to track down Galeni, who Miles hadn't seen since they'd landed at HQ.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to know quite where Galeni was. Miles decided to poke his head randomly into boardrooms, startling people into asking anxiously if m'lord Consort needed anything, until at last he found – well, not Galeni, but Alexis. His assistant was typing diligently away at a comconsole, but he looked up when the door sighed open.

"Alexis, what are you doing?" Miles asked, coming to peer over his shoulder.

"Er. My report, m'lord."

Miles blinked. "Won't there be time for that later? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, asleep? You were up all night."

"So were you," Alexis pointed out.

"True," Miles had to concede. "Nevertheless."

Alexis shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. I figured that if anything would help, it'd be this." He gestured toward the comconsole screen."

"I suppose so." Miles hesitated a moment – he really did want to find Galeni and go see Cavilo – but he'd not had the chance to do this since they'd arrived back at HQ. "Anyway, before things get hectic again, I wanted to thank you."

"Oh, m'lord, no –" Alexis began, looking mildly horrified.

"No, Alexis, I mean it," Miles said. "There'll be a ceremony later, I'm sure, and you'll get a medal at the very least, but I wanted to tell you that I am very much personally indebted to you for this." He grinned suddenly. "In fact, you might want to be careful from now on – you've saved my life and now you've saved Gregor's. Ivan could tell you what'll happen if you keep on doing that."

Alexis gulped visibly. "I – er – hadn't thought of it that way."

Miles waved a hand airily. "Don't worry, Ivan is familially obligated. We would never be that mean to you."

"Oh. Well," Alexis took a deep breath, "thank you, m'lord."

"Thank you, Captain Avalos." Miles shook his hand solemnly. "And now, did you happen to see where Commodore Galeni might have gone?"

Alexis hadn't, but Miles finally found him two doors down, meeting with two of the assistant departmental heads of Komarran Affairs. He broke the meeting off when he saw Miles at the door. The two assistants filed past with respectful nods and Galeni stood, shuffling papers. "M'lord, what can I do for you? I hope the Emperor is well."

"Gregor's fine. Would you be mind accompanying me on a short errand?"

"Of course not, m'lord."

Galeni fell into step beside him and they started down the hallway. "Er, Miles, if you don't mind my asking," he said, after a few moments of silence, "but where are we going?"

"Cavilo," Miles said, rather grimly. Galeni nodded, apparently unsurprised, and led the way down into the subterranean levels of the building. Miles followed, marshaling his thoughts and defenses for the interview. The few humanoids that hadn't been destroyed by the explosion or the fire at the palace were in ImpSec's hands now, undergoing various tests. No help would be forthcoming for Cavilo from that quarter, nor, Miles was certain, from the Baron himself. Cavilo was well and truly defeated and she had to know it. And yet – Miles knew that the only thing more dangerous and unpredictable than a rabid mongoose was a trapped rabid mongoose. He cracked his knuckles.

ImpSec Komarr was uncomfortably well equipped for dealing with prisoners, Miles reflected. And they weren't nice, cushy prisoner apartments like at HQ in Vorbarr Sultana either. At the moment many of the cells were filled with Komarran terrorists responsible for the bombings in the days following the closure of the wormhole, but Miles was interested only in the one at the very end of the narrow, dimly lit gray hallway.

Galeni spoke to the guard, who nodded and disappeared inside the room. He turned and gave Miles a nervous glance. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. No one else will get anything out of her."

"And you think you will?"

"Well, I can try, at least," Miles said, just as the door sighed open to admit them.

Cavilo sat in a chair in the middle of the room, arms and legs shackled. Her skintight red jumpsuit had been swapped for typical orange prisoner overalls, her hair was hanging in her face, and she'd obviously been sweating. Miles had to bite his lip to keep from grinning.

"I knew it'd be you," she snarled, eyes narrowing.

"Be happy it's not anybody else," Miles retorted, stepping inside. Galeni followed him in and keyed the door shut. The guard took up his post and glowered helpfully "That orange is truly a wretched color on you."

She sneered. "I'd have thought you'd be at the bedside of your dear husband, holding his hand and telling him how much you love him."

"I've seen Gregor already. Lucky for you, he's fine. But he's resting at the moment, so I thought I'd come down and chat with you."

"There's nothing to chat about."

"Well," Miles said slowly, pulling a chair over to face her. He spun it around backwards and sat, draping his arms casually over the back. "I have to admit, you did a good job gloating as you went. Your plan is pretty clear to us. What I want to know, though, is what the Baron thought he was doing. The fireship in the wormhole – did anything else go through?"

"I'm not going to answer that," she sniffed. "And if nothing did, it's only because you're lucky."

"Hmm," Miles said. He hadn't really expected anything else, not that he could have trusted anything she did say, but he'd thought it worth a try. He was just getting warmed up anyway. "Very well. Something else I've been wondering about: how did the two of you find each other? Was there a convention for homicidal maniacs or was it a blind date?"

She gave him a disparaging glare. "I fail to see how knowing that would do you any good."

"I'm curious?"

"And you can stay that way, you slimy little runt."

Miles sighed. "Cavilo, Cavilo, Cavilo," he said, shaking his head. "I was really hoping you'd be more cooperative than this."

"Then you're even more of an idiot than I thought."

"No, that would be you," he replied, losing the light tone at last. He leaned forward. "You kidnapped the Emperor, Cavilo. That is a very serious offense on Barrayar. You are in a heap of trouble, and I highly doubt the Baron will go to great lengths to get you out of it." If he wasn't mistaken, she blanched just a little at that. _Excellent._ "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he expected you to fail all along. I mean, did he really think we'd give up Sergyar?"

"If you were smart, you would have," she said, lifting her chin in defiance. "You haven't seen what I've seen."

"Which is?"

"His army."

"Yeah," Miles said slowly, "so you've said, but I don't think that's going to work out the way he thinks it is. And that's part of your problem. You see," he went on, ignoring her scoffing, "a Jacksonian Baron with an army is going to be a thorn in everyone's side, so we're looking into forming an alliance of sorts. Barrayar, Escobar, Beta . . . Cetaganda. Now, please, Cavie darling, will you explain to me exactly why we shouldn't hand you over to the Cetagandans to sweeten the deal?"

He definitely hadn't imagined it that time – she blanched completely white and if he wasn't mistaken, tugged subtly at her restraints. They didn't give, of course, and her expression took on a veneer of desperation. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, but we would. Saves us having to deal with you ourselves."

"What would you do, anyway?" she asked, with clearly feigned indifference. "Kill me?"

Miles grimaced. "No, more's the pity. Barrayar is actually trying a new, more civilized approach these days. I suppose we'd extradite you to wherever you're from – assuming that you were born somewhere and not just spawned out of hell – and see to it that they punish you adequately. But," he shrugged, "I just don't know. We very much want Cetaganda in this new alliance, and handing you over would be a clear sign of good faith."

She continued to glare, but finally said, through clenched teeth, "What do you want to know?"

"The humanoids, Cavilo," he replied evenly. "How intelligent are they? How were you controlling them? How many does the Baron _really_ have?"

"They're adequately intelligent," she said, with great reluctance. "They can recognize a threat and eliminate it. They have speech, obviously, but that's just programming. They're connected to each other – networked – so that they know where the others are and what they're doing at all times."

"And you had them networked into the palace's computer system, didn't you?" Miles prompted. "Anywhere there was a comconsole or even sensors. Gave you the appearance of omniscience."

"Yes," she admitted.

"And controlling them?"

"A combination of programming and verbal commands, they respond to both. He has thousands more humanoids than the ones he sent with me," she added, before Miles could ask. "Possibly hundreds of thousands by now. And he can always make more. Don't think you can destroy the technology, either. He's learned his lesson well."

"I figured as much," Miles said. He nodded, slapped his knees, and stood. "Well, Cavilo, I don't imagine that we'll see each other again. I can only hope not. I'd tell you to have a nice life, but, well . . ." He shrugged.

"But you promised," she said. She was sweating again, Miles was pleased to note. "I told you about the humanoids and you promised."

"Don't worry," Miles said with disgust. "Not that you don't deserve it, but I assume you have citizenship _somewhere_ and it would be a hassle. You'll be extradited – provided, of course," he added, almost as an afterthought, "that you continue to cooperate. If I find out from Commodore Galeni here that you've been difficult, well, we'll have to revisit the matter."

"You're just loving this, aren't you?" she growled.

"Cavilo," Miles sighed, "you have no one to blame but yourself in this. Well," he added, "perhaps the Baron. But you should have known better. There was no other way for this to end."

"I could have shot your precious little Emperor," she snapped, drawing herself up in her shackles. "I should have, the moment I laid hands on him."

"Perhaps," Miles said darkly. "But I promise you that if you had, there would have been no extradition. No Cetagandans either. Just me. And you would not have enjoyed that, Cavilo. Not in the least." He turned on his heel and strode past both the guard and Galeni, who followed belatedly with a rather stunned expression.

"Well," Galeni said once the door had sighed shut, "that was more informative than I thought it would be."

"You should have someone have a go at her again, eventually," Miles replied, turning down the hallway. "Someone who knows the right questions to ask about the humanoids. The more information we have about them, the better."

"Yes, m'lord," Galeni said, hurrying to keep up.

At the top of the stairs, Miles stopped for a moment, just to breathe. He'd hardly let himself do that in the last three days, or so it felt like. But now he could. Cavilo was locked up. His father was safe. Gregor was safe. Everything else would come as it would and they would deal with it. Nothing was insurmountable.

Their worlds would continue turning on their axes for the next generation.

"Miles?" Galeni prompted after a few seconds, casting him a strange look. "Are you all right?"

Miles managed to turn his grin into an acceptably reassuring smile, so as not to unnerve Galeni. "Yes, thank you. What's next?"

*~*~*

 

By the time Gregor finally convinced his physician to let him up, a full twenty-four hours had passed. He couldn't really complain, he supposed – which didn't mean he didn't – as he'd spent most of it sleeping. Still, getting up and putting on real trousers and a shirt was welcome, even if it meant that he couldn't put off the spate of meetings that Miles hadn't been able to manage in his stead. He would have to see to that this morning. But first . . .

Aral had apparently had rather less success convincing his physicians that he should be allowed out of bed. He was alone and glaring at a handviewer when Gregor knocked. He looked up and, seeing Gregor, frowned and gestured him in all at once.

"How come they let you up?" he demanded rather indignantly.

"I pulled rank."

"Hmph! So did I. Fat lot of good it did me. And I never even got stunned."

"True," Gregor said, settling himself in the bedside chair. "Doesn't seem quite fair from my perspective either. Would you like to take my meetings so I can go back to sleep?"

"Ah, no," Aral said, smiling slightly. "On second thought," he reached over and patted Gregor's shoulder, "I'm feeling just a bit fatigued after all." He set the handviewer aside. "So, what brings you here?"

"Well," Gregor said, a bit disconcerted. He didn't think it was all that surprising, really, given the circumstances. "Concern, I suppose. Miles said you were all right, but I guess I wanted to – that is, I wanted to –"

"I hope," Aral interrupted him with a sharp look, "that you are not about to do me the dishonor of thanking me for anything I did back there."

It was Gregor's turn to frown. "Aral –"

"It was my duty as a Vorkosigan," Aral said, his expression and his tone gentling. "And as your loyal subject, Sire. No thanks necessary."

"No thanks _necessary_, perhaps," Gregor said, recovering himself somewhat, "but I hope you don't see it as a dishonor if I say that I was – well, rather glad to have you there."

Aral gave a gruff laugh. "I suppose I shouldn't say I feel the same, but the thought of having that woman's full and undivided attention –"

Gregor shuddered. "Exactly."

They fell silent then, and Gregor wondered if he should say something else, something – he didn't know what. He and Aral had so struggled with each other these last five years; it had all come to a head when Miles was ill, of course, and since then things had been peaceful enough between them. But it was only in the last few days that Gregor had started to think that perhaps Aral really had forgiven him after all, that perhaps, somehow, things had come right between them while neither of them was looking. And now he wondered if he should say something.

But then again, that was just it, wasn't it? Things had come right. There wasn't anything left to say. Gregor relaxed, settling a bit further back in the chair.

"I heard about what you did," Aral said suddenly, leaning back and crossing his arms over his stocky chest.

Gregor frowned briefly. "What I – oh. Yes. It didn't seem like there was any other choice at the time."

"I imagine not," Aral said, but still cast Gregor a somewhat stern glance. "That set a dangerous precedent, boy."

Gregor winced. "I'm aware."

"You can't just go letting anyone stun you."

"Well, it's not as though I wasn't specific," Gregor pointed out. "I asked Galeni to stun me." Aral narrowed his eyes at him and Gregor sighed. "I was aware of the risks, Aral, I assure you. I knew no one would do it otherwise. Quite honestly I _don't_ think this is going to be taken as permission to shoot at will," he added dryly. "And it was better than getting in that aircar with her or letting her shoot me in the head with her nerve disruptor. I'll take my chances with the future; right now I'm just happy to have one."

"Hmph," Aral said, seeming more or less mollified. "I certainly can't argue with you there."

There was a brisk knock at the door then and Cordelia swept in, wishing them a good morning. She paused briefly, looking quite satisfied and just a bit smug to see the two of them sitting together, before kissing Aral, then Gregor and settling herself in the other bedside chair.

"I should –" Gregor said, beginning to rise, but she stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"Actually, you shouldn't. Miles told me to keep you here – he has some news, apparently."

"Oh," Gregor said, sinking back down. He frowned. "Did he say what kind?"

"Of course not," Cordelia said with half of a smile. "That would have diminished the melodrama."

"Ah, right," Gregor said, and folded his hands in his lap. He was aware of Aral and Cordelia talking quietly, but he had no notion of what they were saying. He was watching the door, hands clasped together firmly to keep them from twisting out of nervousness, and was just about to get up and go find Miles himself when the door swung open and he stepped in.

"Miles," Gregor began a bit sharply, starting to rise, "really, there's a time and place for dramatics and –" He broke off as General Allegre ducked through the door and gave Gregor an apologetic frown. "Oh, Guy, I didn't realize – do you have medical clearance to be up and about?"

"That's actually to blame for the hold-up, I'm afraid, Sire," Allegre replied, reaching out to grasp Gregor's hand. "I wanted to be here and my physician had other ideas."

"Ah, right. Er," Gregor said, glancing down at Miles, who raised his eyebrows in expectation. "My apologies."

"Eh, quite all right," Miles said, waving this away. "Can't really blame you for thinking I'd do it on purpose."

"So just what is this news?" Gregor asked, relinquishing his seat to Allegre, who looked about to protest until Gregor gave him an Imperial Frown. He wasn't at all sure he agreed that Allegre was ready to be back out of bed, much less on active duty; Gregor had only been stunned once – well, twice, he supposed – and he felt barely ready to be up and about. Allegre had been kept continually stunned for two days. Still, he looked well enough, and quite determined to be there. Gregor decided it was better not to argue, not least because he wanted to know what the hell Miles was on about.

Miles pulled a disk out of his pocket. "We got a tightbeam message this morning. Well, two, actually, but this is the one you need to see." He strode over to the holovid machine in the corner of the room and slid the disk in. He stepped back, controller in hand, and fiddled a bit. Gregor leaned back, still slightly annoyed and wondering who it would be; he could think of several candidates, among them General Benin, the Baron, Elli Quinn –

For some reason, he wasn't expecting Ivan.

Gregor bolted upright immediately, reaching out to grasp Cordelia's arm. "Miles," he managed.

"Shh," Miles admonished and stood back, grinning.

"I'm not sure when this will reach the two of you," Ivan was saying, "since the plan is basically for someone to sit up there by the wormhole and just continually tightbeam it until it goes through, but I just wanted to take this opportunity to express how completely and utterly pissed off I am at you both." Gregor felt his face crack in a grin. "You need to get home and start your brat, because I'm not doing this again, are we clear? I have never been less of an innocent bystander than in the last four days. I have to give a daily holovid address!"

"Poor, poor Ivan," Gregor murmured.

"Oh, it gets better," Miles said, fairly cackling.

"Also," Ivan continued, the gleam in his eye going from annoyed to outraged, "ImpSec yanked me out of my house in the middle of night, installed me in the Residence, and haven't let me leave. They won't let me out and they won't let Ekaterin in, and I'm sure you're laughing your ass off right now, Miles, but this really, really isn't funny. All right, all right," Ivan snapped to someone off to the side. "Get your Imperial Asses home, you two. Or I swear, I will whip your brat up in a petri dish myself." The holovid winked out.

"Well," Aral said, "that was reassuringly indignant."

"I'll make sure a copy of the report that came through with it is ready for you, Sire," Allegre replied, looking at Gregor, "but it seems that everything has gone as well as could be expected."

"Ah," Gregor said, a bit faintly. He'd been unaware until that moment how much that had still weighed on him; it was only when the weight lifted that he realized what a burden it had been. "Excellent."

"Quite." Allegre stood, and if he was a little unsteady, he seemed bound to make up for it with determination. "With your permission, Sire, I'd like to start preparations for the trip home."

"Yes, General, thank you," Gregor said, nodding gravely. "As soon as possible."

"Very good, Sire." Allegre bowed himself out.

"What was the other message?" Cordelia asked.

Miles dropped into the chair Allegre had vacated. "Elli."

"Oh?" Gregor said, lifting an eyebrow.

Miles nodded. "Apparently she arrived back at the fleet to find things a bit of a mess. The Baron's going to have to work out some of the kinks in his soldier boys, it seems, if he's serious about this whole empire-building scheme."

"I see," Gregor said. "How unsurprising."

"What sort of mess?" Cordelia asked, lips quirking.

"Well, the fleet pretty much reasserted itself the moment Cavilo left – Elli's second in command led a revolt and pulled the rug out from under the man Cavilo left in charge. She really doesn't pick subordinates that well," Miles added thoughtfully.

"She likes people she can bully," Aral pointed out.

"Or seduce," Gregor added, somewhat darkly. "Both, for preference."

"Right," Miles said, casting him a brief, somewhat concerned glance. He shook his head, trying to indicate _not now_. After a moment Miles put his feet up on his father's hospital bed and continued, with a good deal of satisfaction, "By the time Elli showed up again, Cavilo's man was in the brig and the soldier boys had been put to work chopping vegetables in the mess and doing menial sorts of repairs, which, according to Elli, is what they're best at."

"No fear, no brains, no loyalty," Aral said, leaning back, looking, if it were possible, even more smug than Miles.

"Exactly. Still," Miles added after a moment, "I think we have to assume the Baron isn't going to abandon his plans quite so quickly. "

"Right," Gregor said, leaning back. "Any word yet?"

"Not yet." Miles bit his lip. "They're consulting, I'm sure. Trying to figure out what's in their best interests."

"Yes, speaking of which," Gregor said, giving Miles a sharp look, "we really do need to talk about your habit of blowing things up."

Miles frowned, seeming faintly puzzled. "You mean the palace?"

Gregor crossed his arms over his chest. "Not so much the palace, no. I'm talking more about bigger situations, shall we say. When did we decide to ally ourselves with Cetaganda?"

"That was Mother's idea," Miles replied, gesturing indignantly to the mother in question, whose lips quirked in amusement.

"Yes, but she didn't haul off and do it without consulting anybody," Gregor returned, with an exasperation that had, till almost that very moment, been masked by simple relief.

"Um," Miles said, looking rather quelled for once. "Huh. I did do that, didn't I?"

"So it seems," Gregor replied dryly. "Only you could end up creating a galactic alliance by _accident_. Just like you ended up admiral of a small but significant mercenary fleet by _accident_. I think Allegre would rest easier if we locked you up to prevent further accidents."

"Funny, Galeni said pretty much the same thing," Miles muttered. "But I –"

"And I'm not saying you were wrong," Gregor went on, plowing right past Miles's objections, "but these things are generally – well, it's sensitive. My diplomatic advisors usually spend a few days just perfecting the wording."

Miles fidgeted. "I know, I just – it was something I could do, right then, and I didn't even think about it. Sorry."

Gregor eyed him briefly and considered several replies before remembering just what an extraordinary effort Miles had made in the last few days. "Well, what's done is done," he said at last, more gently, "and I think it might actually work out rather well. Besides," he added, feeling suddenly inspired, "it'll give you something to do once we're back in Vorbarr Sultana."

"Er," Miles said warily. "What does that mean?"

Gregor smiled at him as sweetly as he knew how. "You did this, Miles. You get to deal with it. I'm sure there'll be a committee you can sit on. Probably several, actually."

Miles's mouth fell open and his boots came down off the bed with an emphatic thump. "Are you – Gregor! You're not actually going to punish me for this, are you?"

Gregor just went on smiling. "Punish? Not at all. It's actually quite the perfect project for you, as both Lord Consort and Lord Auditor, and with your connections and galactic experience – I can't think of anyone better."

Miles stared at him in mute horror; out the corner of his eye Gregor could see Aral and Cordelia both trying desperately and unsuccessfully not to laugh. "I think you're taking unfair advantage of my new . . ." Miles gestured helplessly. "New philosophy. Outlook. Whatever."

"Not so much unfair as ruthless," Gregor agreed. He checked his chrono and stood. "And now, I have a meeting. Are you coming?" he added to Miles.

Miles glared at him in barely suppressed mutiny for a moment and then sighed. "Yes, I suppose I am."

Gregor smiled. "Thank you," he said quietly. Together they took their leave of Aral and Cordelia, who continued to look highly amused, and headed down the hall, Miles grumbling under his breath all the while. Gregor ignored it, for the most part, until just outside the boardroom where his meeting would be held. Then he let his hand brush Miles's shoulder lightly.

Miles looked up at him, the corners of his mouth lifting in wry amusement. "A committee, eh?"

"More than one, I suspect."

Miles sighed deeply. "And you say you love me."

Gregor smiled briefly. "Always."

_Fin._


End file.
